


Crossing the Horizon

by nessalk



Series: Crossing the Horizon [1]
Category: Brave (2012), How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:52:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 121,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessalk/pseuds/nessalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were pieces on different gaming boards-a queen who refused to play and a knight who played by his own rules. But, succession is never easy, especially when allies are more dangerous than enemies and enemies gather like crows. More than dragons or steel, Merida asks a dangerous request: Hiccup, tell me about the legend in your tribe of the boy and the dragon with one tailfin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act of War

The spear nearly skewered Hiccup. Only Toothless's lightning fast swerve prevented the young Viking from being spitted like the chickens Gobber and Fishlegs so often favored for their evening meal. Even so, the spear ripped through the side of the loose shirt Hiccup wore and tore the skin from his flesh. The Night Fury shrieked its anger and flared its wings but their enemy was once again concealed in the gloom. The cavern was a claustrophobic maze of stalagmites and stalactites that glittered like teeth in the uneven light cast by the lit sconces on the walls.

"Not so fast while you're grounded, are you?" came Alvin's disembodied voice. The sound echoed oddly in the tight space. Normally, dark places were no challenge for Toothless to hunt in but Alvin had placed rotting carcasses throughout the twisting paths to fool his sense of smell and the rumble of a nearby underground river obscured the sounds of Alvin's movements.

"Not as good as hiding like a scared little rabbit," Hiccup gasped, hand against his side. The wound was more gash than cut but it still burned. He wished he could have worn his leather armor but it wasn't nearly complete yet. "Or should I say a mole since you prefer dark, underground places?" Toothless walked forward soundlessly, nose close to the ground in a vain attempt to discern Alvin's scent. Toothless's breaths came in little pants; Hiccup knew the dragon was getting tired. The Outcasts' ambush on the dragon riders came at the tail end of a long search for the Outcast Chief. He was the key, Hiccup had to remind himself, of ending the fighting between the Vikings of Berk and Outcast Island. Without him, the mission would be for nothing and the fights would continue.

"Mind your tongue, boy!" came a shout that sounded far too close for comfort. Hiccup tried not to jump like a startled elk, but it was a near miss. "We might be mortal enemies but I'm still your elder. I'm still the chief of the Outcast Tribe!" Toothless fired a ball of plasma in answer and succeeded in obliterating a large stalagmite. Beyond it, the Viking Chief was waiting, great axe in hand.

"Really? You're gonna pull rank on me?" asked Hiccup, which, okay, was a bit rich coming from the guy who attempted to kill and/or coerce Hiccup, Toothless and the rest of Berk on a regular basis. But, Hiccup could throw back snark as good as if it were his only weapon (after all, for a very long time it was). "Because from where I'm sitting," here Toothless gave an impressive growl that rolled across the cavern and shook small stones, "it's the same old tired story. How many times have you tried to get me and Toothless but we always get away? It's getting a little boring. "

Strangely, his words did not infuriate the older Viking. Alvin slowly hefted his great axe from one hand to the next, almost considering his words. His dark beard shook, almost as if he were chuckling. But that couldn't be right. "Toothless…?" The way he drawled the words almost made it sound like it ended in a question. "You mean that dragon that you're riding right now?"

Ignoring Toothless continuous growls, Hiccup stared. "Did you hit your head during the fight?" he demanded, before pushing sweat-stained brown locks from his forehead. "Toothless as in my dragon! Now give up before you get any dumber."

"Oh and how's your memory, Hiccup?" Alvin sneered.

"I'm not the one forgetting that I've got the large carnivorous, fire breathing dragon on his side!"

"Then you shouldn't have any problems remembering Dagur, will you? Chief of the Berserker tribe? Old friends of yours? Dagur!" His shout rose and resounded in the dark space while Hiccup's heartbeat raced and simultaneously sank to his toes. His worst fears were confirmed moments later when Dagur stepped out from a hidden crevasse, his face slack with shock and terrible rage.

Toothless hissed but Hiccup kept him steady, kept him calm. "Dagur, let's talk about this," began Hiccup desperately. "We don't have to—"

"So the rumors were true… all true!" Dagur screamed, spittle flying and eyes lit with anger. "I laughed when I heard that you killed the Red Death… that you tamed a Night Fury." He walked closer and closer, his movements jerky in his rage, but at least he hadn't drawn his double axe either. "Not Hiccup, I told them, that scrawny little imp that I used to try pushing off of cliffs and ice bergs when we were little."

The memory of a myriad of diplomatic visits from Dagur and his father, the kindly Osvald the Agreeable, filled Hiccup's thoughts and caused him to flush. Dagur had been sadistic then and as an adult, Osvald could no longer curb his son's tendencies. The only way Berk had been able to keep their alliance with the Berserkers was by outright lying to them about taming dragons. Dagur itched for a fight, all but insulted Stoick and threatened Hiccup on several occasions… But in the end, the letter of the alliance between the sister tribes kept Dagur from declaring war.

"You're a shame to our lineage," Dagur spat. "I can't believe that any descendant of Grimbeard the Ghastly would ride dragons." Hiccup tried to interrupt, but Dagur's voice crescendoed. "You broke the treaty! Our alliance is dissolved!" Finally, he seemed to calm. His chin dipped down and his horned helm lowered. There was a moment's silence before he said in a whisper that struck Hiccup like a hammer, "The Berserker Tribe considers this an act of war." When Dagur lifted his face, he was grinning that manic smile he wore whenever he tried to drown Hiccup when they "played" by the river. The small throwing axe was flung so quickly Hiccup barely had the chance to register it. Again, Toothless's quick reflexes saved Hiccup's face from having a new permanent addition.

Dagur charged them, howling. His famed double axe Hel finally made its appearance. Toothless roared in answer and knocked him down with his fire. But Hiccup was only half paying attention. "Keep him busy, bud," Hiccup whispered. "But watch out for Alvin. You know he's gotta nasty surprise waiting for us." Moments later, Hiccup spotted Alvin while Dagur eyed them warily. Alvin was aiming a spear at them from a high ledge!

"Toothless, now!" Hiccup screamed. Toothless blasted a ball of plasma at Alvin who dove down to escape it. The plasma knocked into a pillar behind Alvin. The ground began to shake and stones began to rain down on them. Hiccup winced. He had been afraid of this.

"We gotta get out of here!" Alvin yelled. He heaved the younger Viking Chief bodily back but Dagur rewarded him instead with the butt end of his axe. "Are you crazy?" Alvin panted, doubled over from the blow. "The cave's collapsing! We're gonna need your men to take that boy and that dragon down. Come on!"

"Don't touch me, you filth!" Dagur said. "You may be a chief, but you're chief of a miserable, rat-infested island. The Berserker Tribe will never accept the Outcasts! The only reason I'm not taking your head off right now is because you told me about this betrayal. Now get out before I change my mind!"

"You pompous dog!" Alvin snarled, drawing his axe. Before the two could engage, a section of the ceiling collapsed and blocked them from Hiccup's sight.

By the time Hiccup and Toothless found the other Viking youths, the sun was only minutes from sinking into the ocean. "Whoa, you look like dragon dung," greeted Snotlout. The burly Viking teenager pushed himself off from the side of the rock wall where he had been standing guard. A long axe glimmered conspicuously in the dying sunlight. Dragons, as a rule, did not like having their riders carry weapons. As Hiccup trained other villagers to ride their dragons, it was a wariness well-founded. Caution between the two erstwhile enemies and the clumsiness of Vikings unused to taking off unexpectedly from the ground caused many an accident. But as skirmishes and outright battles grew more and more frequent between the Vikings of Berk and the Vikings of Outcast Island, being caught without a weapon, dragon rider or not, was just a death wish.

Hookfang, Snotlout's Monstrous Nightmare, dropped down behind its rider, carefully and sinuously flowed past Snotlout, and nosed Hiccup. It sneezed at him and then turned to sniff Toothless curiously. Toothless sighed and began to roll in the ground to get the cloying dirt from his scales. By this time, the other Viking teens had drawn close. Hiccup spotted their respective dragons looking at them from the outcropping. The place the dragon riders had chosen to regroup after their ambush by the Outcasts was on a small, narrow ledge set high against one of the many towering cliffs on the island. It was a hard place to get to without dragons; the only way down was through a treacherous, crumbling footpath. The height also afforded them an easy vantage point; the ledge overlooked desolate rocky hills below peppered with sparse vegetation. An area blasted by fire marked the area the Outcasts ambushed the dragon riders. Near it, Hiccup spotted the entrance to the cavern where Alvin made his quick escape.

"Oh good. That's just what I was aiming for," said Hiccup, rolling eyes. He wiped the mud from his brow but only succeeded in smearing it all over his face.

"You mean you wanted to look like dragon dung?" asked Tuffnut, but it was hard for Hiccup to take offense at that. Tuffnut sported a black eye and he held his arm gingerly. That didn't stop Ruffnut from elbowing him sharply. "Ow! Injured here!" he exclaimed.

"That was a joke, moron," said his twin sister. "Unlike you, Hiccup didn't get his injuries or his dung from stupidly trying to take on three Outcasts without back up." Despite her harsh words, she actually stood closer to Tuffnut than normal, a little protective edge in her stance. It was four years since the incident with the Red Death and his friends had turned from fledgeling dragon killers to skilled dragon riders and formidable warriors in their own right. Well. Most of them. On some days. Still, he trusted their battle prowess more than most and was surprised and dismayed to find that they all bore light wounds—bruises, burns, some cuts.

"But it might still have some camouflage purposes," input Fishlegs, distracting Hiccup from his line of thought. His right eye was turning purple and blue and he held a hand against it. "Did you really need to hide in a pile of dragon dung?" Fishlegs bravely rubbed some of the mud off of Hiccup. "Where were you guys?"

"The cave Alvin was in collapsed so Toothless and I had to find a different exit route," said Hiccup, shaking his sleeves. "The mud is from an underground river we used to get out of the cavern."

"Guys, guys," said Astrid pushing their friends aside. Unlike the others, Astrid only had a small cut on her forehead. At the sight of her, Hiccup softened and he sighed in relief. "Are you okay?" She looked so concerned and for a moment, it felt just like old times that Hiccup almost expected a hug. He even started to move forward. But then Astrid made a minuscule step back and Hiccup was forcibly reminded of the strained distance between them.

There was a beat and, aware of the avidly curious eyes on them, Hiccup responded, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good," said Astrid. "I was… That's really good." She shifted from one foot to the other and tapped the handle of her favored double axe. She cleared her throat and said in a much firmer tone, "Alvin got away then?"

"Yeah, but we've got bigger problems," said Hiccup grimly, trying to ignore the ache in his chest at the awkwardness between the two of them. Briefly, he explained to them what happened in the cave. One by one, their expressions turned from curiosity to concern to worry. At the end of his tale, they all exploded with comments simultaneously.

"I knew it was a trap all along!" said Snotlout.

"It was almost too easy to follow his trail," added Fishlegs.

"You're losing your touch, Hiccup," said Ruffnut.

"I thought I saw a Berserker ship," said Tuffnut.

"Wait, so are you telling me that you got a chance to kill Dagur, but you didn't?" asked Astrid, eyes narrowed.

"What?" Hiccup spluttered. "I'm not going to kill him. Who says anything about killing him?"

His friends eyed each other for a beat. Finally, Snotlout scoffed, but Tuffnut shook his head at him. "What?" demanded Snotlout. "Is that not what we're going to have to do?"

"But," Hiccup spluttered. "We weren't even going to kill Alvin. Our mission was to capture Alvin alive so we could force the Outcast Tribe to leave Berk alone."

Tuffnut said, "Well, maybe we can reason with Dagur—"

Ruffnut crossed her arms and sighed, "If Dagur wasn't insane."

"That's sort of an exaggeration," Hiccup protested.

"He wiped out an entire village from a neighboring tribe because one of their boats happened to cross into Berserker waters even though the boat was empty," deadpanned Fishlegs.

But Hiccup wasn't looking at any of them. His focus was on Astrid who only shook her head at him. "We can't take any chances. Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruff, Tuff, pair up and track him down on foot."

"Why on foot?" asked Snotlout, unhappy about leaving his dragon. Hookfang growled next to him.

"Because," said Astrid, in a tone that she used right before she punched the next idiot, "as far as Dagur knows, only Hiccup broke the treaty. I'll fly high with Stormfly to scope out the area. It'll be harder to spot one dragon in the sky than five. The last thing we need is for the rest of the Berserkers to see us on dragons. If we get to Dagur before he catches up with the rest of his men, we can stop this war from happening. " Her ice blue eyes roved sternly over the others for a moment daring them to argue. After a beat, the others murmured their agreement and began to move out.

"Wait, what am I supposed to do?" Hiccup asked, frustration coloring his voice.

"Look after our dragons and try not to make a bigger mess," said Snotlout moodily, already heading down the path. Fishlegs, Ruff and Tuff followed closely behind. Astrid paused, already on her bright blue Deadly Nadder. She looked like she wanted to say something but then she sighed in vexation and nudged Stormfly to take off.

Unlike most of Snotlout's casual insults, the words stung unexpectedly. It reminded him of a time when he had been without Toothless and when he had been known as Hiccup the Useless. It had been years since he had heard those words said directly to him and it made his breath catch in his throat. Focus, Hiccup, he told himself. Now is not the time for hurt feelings. Focus on the big picture. We gotta get to Dagur before anyone else gets hurt.

Toothless nudged him, eyes large and anxious. "It's okay, bud," Hiccup whispered. "I think I may have an idea of where Dagur's going. But we gotta beat Astrid and Stormfly there first. Think you're up for it?" Toothless bared his teeth.

Hiccup spotted Stormfly streaking across the sky following the coastline. Dusk had already fallen across the landscape, which worked well in their favor. Darkness would better camouflage their dragons. The few minutes' lead was all Astrid and Stormfly needed to make a large gap, but Toothless was still the faster dragon and Hiccup the better rider. The distance between the two was slowly lessening but Hiccup wasn't interested in beating them.

"Astrid!" he yelled out, once they were close enough. Either the wind snatched away his words or Astrid chose to ignore him. Hiccup hoped it was the former. "Astrid, you've gotta listen to me!" Astrid was hunched flat over Stormfly. It was the perfect posture to reduce drag and maintain your seat when your dragon was going at top speed; he had taught her that. The memory stung. Hiccup couldn't see her face but he knew that expression well—ice blue eyes narrowed in ferocious concentration.

"Back off, Hiccup!" Astrid said. Abruptly, Stormfly dove. A moment later, Hiccup saw what they were going after. A dark shape was running across the steep cliffs of the island. The high horned helm was a dead giveaway to the young Berserker Chief. Dagur had somehow escaped the collapsing cavern and was trying to cut through the treacherous terrain to the rocky cove beyond. In the gloom, Hiccup could barely make out a Berserker longship filled with men a few leagues away. His men must have regrouped. No doubt they were anxiously awaiting their chief's return.

Toothless followed right behind Stormfly. Hiccup cursed. Just as with weapons training, Astrid trained her dragon with all her passion and intelligence. While Fishlegs and his Gronckle were definitely close, it was Astrid and Stormfly who rivaled Hiccup and Toothless's strong partnership. If Astrid wanted to, Stormfly could give Toothless a run for his money and Astrid was definitely hunting Dagur with her all. It would take a few precious minutes for Toothless to catch up and short of knocking her out of the sky, there was nothing they could do.

Stormfly opened her mouth, her bright magnesium flame flaring like a star.

"Stormfly, no!" Hiccup screamed at the same time Toothless roared and rammed into the Deadly Nadder. Astrid cried out, but the fireball flew to the earth with terrifying speed. The resulting explosion lit up the area with blinding brilliance. It landed just shy of Dagur who was blown off his feet and over the edge of the cliff. Hiccup snatched glimpses of the falling Viking warrior—Dagur's wide, terrible gaze directed at the pair and his soundless screams. Hiccup watched him go as if in slow motion. He could hear Astrid's cry of "Hiccup!" behind him but he didn't listen. Toothless didn't miss a beat and went straight for the Viking Chief.

Toothless and Hiccup were on a vertical dive but it still wasn't enough. They were only halfway down before Dagur hit the water with a sharp crack. Hiccup winced, but slowed Toothless to a controlled descent—less falling and more deliberate dive into the water. The young Viking held his breath when Toothless entered the water with a splash. He counted the seconds—one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine—ten—eleven—before Toothless shot into the air again. Hiccup shook the cold, salty water from his hair and eyes.

"Did you get him?" he asked, but he already knew the answer. Toothless let out a soft sound. "Good work, buddy. Let's get back to Astrid. I think it's our turn to fear for our lives."

Astrid and Stormfly were waiting for them on the cliff above. Astrid had her arms crossed, motionless. But Stormfly was pacing the cliff agitatedly. The Deadly Nadder screeched belligerently at Toothless as Toothless deposited Dagur carefully onto the ground. Toothless let out a weary growl in return and landed.

Hiccup slid off Toothless and checked Dagur with baited breath. Dagur's arm hung oddly. Hiccup knew, from past experience helping other Viking warriors in the village recently come back from skirmishes and battles, that it was probably dislocated. Dagur was also missing a boot and his lower legs were covered in small burns—no doubt splashes of Stormfly's flame. Dagur's face, usually animated, was slack and incredibly pale. But, incredibly, he still breathed. His chest rose and fell in short, shallow puffs. Hiccup sighed in relief and studied him more closely. In repose, Hiccup could see the likenesses between them. Dagur was only a year older than him and they shared similar features—notably, green eyes and auburn hair. They were related, if somewhat distantly, by their great ancestor the Viking King Grimbeard the Ghastly. Without his great horned helm and his axe Hel, Dagur could be mistaken for his cousin more than Snotlout was. Despite his cruelty, Hiccup knew how much Osvald loved his son. Osvald would be worried by now. He heard Astrid approach them

"Is he alive?" Astrid asked flatly.

Hiccup nodded.

"What do you think you're doing?" Astrid asked, her voice as icy as the wind blowing past them. By this time, the darkness had truly set in. Nearby, the Deadly Nadder and the Night Fury circled each other warily, growling. Clouds obscured the moon and the only light to see by were the stars.

Hiccup could trace the familiar planes and curves of her face, but her eyes were a stranger to him now. He stood up, shoulders squared. "Astrid, we can't kill him," he sighed, feeling sick at heart and already very tired.

"You're not stupid, Hiccup," she shot back, her words clipped and precise. "You know there's no other choice. The Berserker Clan is the largest Viking tribe. They have an armada of 50,000 warriors." Her voice lowered but for all that it struck Hiccup more sharply than her matter-of-fact tone. "Dagur isn't like his father. He united the feuding houses of the Berserker Tribe by cutting off the heads of the chieftains-his own kinsmen! All he needs is an excuse to wipe us out, ally or not. You gave him that excuse. We have to kill him. This is the only way."

Hiccup flinched at her words. Everything Astrid said was true. If the Berserker Clan did go to war, oh, he could imagine the consequences, the devastation it would bring to Berk. But still, the thought of killing Dagur, of killing anybody, made him sick. It didn't matter that his friends had, in recent years, been involved in intense battles and had killed enemies in some form or another. All of them, Snotlout, Ruff, Tuff, Astrid and even Fishlegs, had been forced to take a life. It was a normal part, no, a special part of Viking culture. It was just as important as the rite of killing a dragon used to be if not more so. Enmity between dragons and humans could subside, but hostilities between humans would always remain. The first kill was an important part of a Viking's passage into adulthood. But Hiccup could never bring himself to do it, no matter how many battles he was involved in or led his friends to. He always tried to look for another way. He just couldn't kill anyone. He wouldn't. Why couldn't she understand?

"Does it always come down to that?" he asked Astrid, defensive. "I know we're Vikings but can't we get a little more creative?"

Astrid's control finally snapped. "This isn't a joke, Hiccup!" she said, arms straightening. "If we don't kill him, he's going to kill us and wipe out all of Berk and our dragons!" As if sensing her fury, Stormfly's spikes snapped threateningly.

"How do we know that for sure?" Hiccup pleaded, "Osvald and my dad are good friends. Osvald is still technically the chief; he wouldn't go to war against us."

"Maybe that might happen," Astrid admitted. She took a deep breath. Her bangs lifted away and revealed eyes that were serious and anxious. "But we've all heard the rumors. We know that Dagur is really in charge now even if his father isn't dead. Are you willing to gamble all of our lives on your optimism that Dagur, the guy you hated since you were kids, will be understanding?"

"I can't just kill him because I don't like him!" Hiccup shouted, frustrated. He ran his hand through his hair. He didn't know how to make her listen. Beside Hiccup, Toothless flared his wings and bared his teeth at Stormfly.

"I'm not going to kill him because I don't like him," Astrid yelled back, equal frustration in her voice. "I'm not doing this for kicks, Hiccup. I'm killing to protect us all."

Both of them breathed hard, looking at each other. There was a only a few feet of space between them but it might as well have been leagues. No matter how hard Hiccup shouted, he felt that she could only hear the faintest whispers. "We don't even know if he'll survive," he said, trying to inject his voice with some calm. "We need to bring him back to his people."

"Bring him back? Are you crazy!" Astrid said, fists shaking. "If he wakes up, he'll know we have dragons and he'll know we tried to kill him." Stormfly snapped at Toothless who dodged the bite and snarled back.

"What if he doesn't survive?" Hiccup countered. "It's the right thing to do to bring him back. If we don't try to help him, then we've as good as killed him. Do you really want to be the type of person who kills somebody because of what they can or might do? Because using that logic, we should still be killing dragons."

Astrid sighed despairingly, "Hiccup, that's different."

"How can you give dragons a second chance, but not people?" Hiccup asked. Astrid stared at him, jaw tightening. He turned and heaved Dagur back on to Toothless's back. "I'm going down to the beach. Make up some story of having helped Dagur fight off an ambush from Alvin. They'll believe that. They don't trust the Outcasts anymore than we do."

"Hiccup…"

"No matter what, Osvald deserves to know what happens to his son," Hiccup said softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: This story came about when a friend and I were trawling tumblr and happened on a Mericcup post. We just went, "Oooh, that could totally work" and thereafter my brain went on overdrive figuring out how a Highland princess and a Viking dragon rider could possibly meet and under what circumstance. The snippets in Liminality belong to this work.
> 
> As mentioned in Liminality, my chapters tend to be super huge. For accessibility, I broke it up into parts with different PoVs. Next up is Merida's part.


	2. Uneasy Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a princess juggles future husbands, alliances, responsibilities, dreams and fears

Merida used to enjoy her birthdays.  She had many good ones especially as a wee lass.  She remembered vividly her father giving her her first bow or her brothers (attempting) to make a cake for her.  But the older she grew, the bigger her birthdays became until it was less a personal feast with her loved ones and more of a kingdom-wide social event.  She was the only girl she knew who could count her age by the size and sheer spectacle of her birthday celebration.

It wasn’t that Merida hated spectacles as a rule.  She enjoyed the games, the food and, in general, she liked the company of their unruly neighbors.  She loved dancing the eightsome reel, especially when her father and brothers joined in.  But now that she was dancing the strathspey, a young lord on either side of her, Merida remembered why, exactly, she disliked her birthdays nowadays.

Unlike the vigorous eightsome reel, the strathspey was a slower, statelier court dance.  The eightsome reel required concentration on movement; there were no finer dancers on the floor than Merida and the young lords then.  The strathspey allowed for talk; Merida couldn’t have been more awkward if she’d tried.  It didn’t help that her partner for a few minutes, Alan MacGuffin, spoke not a word though most dancers were talking round them.  He alternated between looking at her as if she might grow two heads and eat him or tripping over his own feet.  Or perhaps he was tripping over the sheer awkwardness hanging over them.  Merida felt like she could barely breathe in it.

“Which dance do you like better?” she asked, finally.  “I prefer the eightsome reel myself.”

Alan mumbled something that was too low for her to understand.

“Uh, could you repeat that again?”

The boy, though already nearing his father’s girth and stature, only blushed furiously and glanced at Lord MacGuffin.  Lord MacGuffin nodded encouragingly at his son before turning back to Lord Macintosh, Lord Dingwall and Merida’s mother Queen Elinor.

“It’s insulting,” continued Lord Macintosh, his voice loud even over the music and the sound of dancing feet.  In honor of the princess’s birthday, Lord Macintosh had deigned to change to a new kilt that looked exactly the same as his old one. (Lady Macintosh proclaimed the newness of the kilt in lofty tones; her father whispered its identical appearance to the old kilt in her ear). “He didn’t even write back after you invited him—a courtesy no outsider, especially a _Roman_ can—“

“Your eyes,” said Alan.  The words came in a rush like an arrow being loosed from a bow or water gushing from a newly dug well.

Merida refrained from jumping—but only just. “Err, yes?”

Alan stared at her face desperately as if trying to read a foreign language.  “They’re so...” he coughed, face red, and then said something in Doric too quickly for Merida to catch. At her raised brow, he took a deep, painful breath and said in slow, formal Gaelic, “Your eyes are... there’s... there’s two of them.”

“Thank you?” She wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or an observation—and so wasn’t sure whether it was safe to laugh. Alan turned as red as her hair and for a moment he genuinely looked as if he might faint.  A mad impulse to escape flitted through her.  She was sure there was a loophole in a princess’s etiquette that allowed her to leave in the middle of a dance to avoid being crushed to death.  But the young heir to Clan MacGuffin was a decent dancer and he spun her away in time to the beat.  Merida focused her eyes to their surroundings to give him a chance to recover.

Near the line of dancers, Merida saw Elinor hold up a hand, a gesture that silenced Lord Macintosh. The queen of the Highlands looked especially lovely tonight.  Merida’s mother wore a deep purple gown trimmed in gold and her glossy brown hair was fashioned in complicated braids that enhanced the golden crown on her head.  “General Titus has already told us that his son is coming to visit him from the capital.  Considering that he hasn’t seen the boy in twenty years, milord can excuse the general’s absence.”

“Why wouldn’t he—“ began Lord Macintosh, face flashing contrition then curiosity.

“A dozen hunters must have worked for weeks to gather this much food,” said Alan.  Merida swung her eyes back to the young lord.  His face had gained a modicum of calm but his palms, when their hands touched, was clammy and sweaty.

“Mhmm,” responded Merida.  Elinor had tried to include Merida in her birthday preparations but Merida was more interested in exploring the new ruins she’d found than assisting her mother. Truthfully, Merida had only a vague idea of the preparations made for her birthday.

Still, Alan’s generous estimate couldn’t have been far from the mark. The high table was laden with King Fergus’s favorite dishes—roasted fowl, leg of sheep, thick slabs of steak. Flagons of ale and mead were placed prominently near the king’s seat.  Fresh strawberries, fragrant apples, succulent pears and warm, fresh-baked cakes were piled near Merida’s end.  No doubt Elinor had instructed it just so that the young princes could not so easily get to the desserts.  However, judging by the empty seats and the untouched haggis on the princes’ plates, Merida could see that her brothers found their dinner elsewhere.  All the tables in the hall were groaning under the weight of similar dishes.  Elinor could not possibly hope to keep her sons from all of them.

“The kitchens must have spent all of yesterday and today cooking and baking and roasting and stewing.” The young Lord MacGuffin was calmer now and his movements were less jerky as he made some trifling observations about the hall.  Merida inclined her head.  This was better than his awkward compliments even if it was dull as a box of rocks.  That was the trouble with Alan.  He was as painstakingly proper and polite as if Elinor herself had just roasted him for three hours straight and he’d come out with one of the Queen’s teaching rods jammed up his backside. Any deviation for the norm, even something as slight as a little compliment, made him blush and stutter like a mincing virginal lass.  

They swept past the lords and Queen Elinor once more.  “I don’t know why you’d even want _Romans_ here,” Lord Dingwall said, pronouncing Roman like a curse. “This is the largest gathering of the clans.  With Clan DunFell sworn under the king’s banner, all clans, small and great, are now unified into one kingdom. We’ve never been stronger.  Best not to let Romans see that.”

“Sworn, aye, ” said Lord Macintosh, shaking his head.  “But I wouldn’t trust DunFell’s word. I’ve heard too many tales of raids and nighttime slaughters. My people in the borders are terrified.”

“But all stand to gain with my Lady Queen’s trading agreements in place,” Lord MacGuffin interrupted.

“Especially since we’ve agreed to continue fostering,” added Lord Dingwall. “When will the princess return to us? Milady Dingwall is most eager to—”

They switched partners.  Niall, pale blond hair standing shockingly upright, grasped her arm, swung her around and moved back in perfect time with the music.  In contrast to young MacGuffin’s soft, almost meek hold, the young Lord Dingwall gripped her with firm fingers that belied his hidden strength.  Merida had been dreading this encounter ever since her hasty escape from Clan Dingwall’s ancestral home.

“Lord Dingwall,” murmured Merida courteously as they joined hands and performed the steps.  Niall merely stared at her, unblinking.  She couldn’t read his expression and it made the girl uneasy.  The two circled around a different couple.

“Did you know that different wood makes different sounds even if you make the same kind of fiddle?” Niall asked as their hands joined then parted.

“Erm, what?” asked Merida brushing her loose hair back as she circled round him.

“Nothing. It looks like a full moon tonight.”

“Oh, I thought you said something about a fiddle.”

“Fiddles? Who talks about fiddles these days? Is that silly? That’s so silly. I was commenting on ducks.  They’re so cute. And delicious.”

“Uhh, yes. Ducks are quite good,” Merida said.  “I’ll let my mother know you like ducks.”

“The Queen likes ducks too?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” he smiled at with a grin a trifle too broad. Then, just as suddenly as he began the conversation, he dropped his smile and stared at the musicians located near the throne.  Merida was left to flounder in the silence.

Merida never quite knew what to expect of Niall.  He was the smallest of her suitors and shorter than her, but his size and dreamy mien hid an almost comically terrifying ferocity when roused. He spoke sparingly and when he did, his comments were often nonsensical or entirely out of the blue. Of all the people Merida had seen Niall interact with, it was only with his father, Lord Dingwall, and Osgar Macintosh that Niall managed entire, though brief, conversations.

But other times… Say, for instance, when he cornered her in gardens with his harp in hand…

“You dance well, Princess,” said Lord Dingwall’s son.

“Thank you, Niall,” she said, snapping to attention.  Niall merely stared at her unblinking.  Merida bit her lip and added,  “Ah, you do too.”

“I never thought much of dancing before I met you.”

“Oh, thank... you?”

“This may be hard to believe, but I’ve never had training.”

“That is hard to believe.”

“This is what happens when the music flows through me.  It’s inspired by nature, by butterflies, by birds, by Osgar.”

“Say what?”

“Um, nothing. I’ve never danced with Osgar before. He never taught me. This is all me.  What a silly thing to suggest, Princess,” he burst into high-pitched laughter.

“Okay...”

Niall blushed furiously and focused his gaze on the tables surrounding them.  Merida waited a few moments before she was sure Niall wouldn’t speak again. If he kept dropping out of the conversation like this, then he wouldn’t have time to bring up Merida’s abortive fostering with the Dingwalls.

Merida had been staying just over a month at the Dingwalls when she started feeling uncomfortable. The first few weeks of her visit went as smoothly as Queen Elinor could have hoped.  Lord and Lady Dingwall, though overbearing, were affable and welcoming.  Merida, conscious of the freedom she owed to the Dingwalls’ good graces and even more conscious of her responsibilities as a princess, was receptive to their attention.  A small part of the princess even looked forward to the change.  She had never lived away from DunBroch and, while a large part of her would miss her family, there was a small, but insistent side that wondered what it would be like to live away from them.

It only took a few days for Merida to see why their only son was so quiet and reserved.   His father took exceptional pride in his heir’s martial achievements and encouraged him to practice without regard to his son’s apparent love of music.  Merida remembered vividly Niall’s wide eyes when she told Lord Dingwall that _of course_ she would like to hear Niall’s playing.  She knew, perhaps more than anyone, how suffocating it felt to not be heard.

After two weeks of listening to Niall’s practice and encouraging him to stand up for himself, Niall had started turning up wherever she walked.  In castle halls or shaded paths in the woods, she’d hear a noise, turn and catch a glimpse of his pale hair.  Once, she’d nearly tripped over him when she exited her room in the morning.  Merida wouldn’t have minded the company so much except Niall almost always disappeared right after.  It was disconcerting, puzzling and a little bit alarming.  The garden serenade tipped it from eccentric to creepy.  He never blinked or looked away from her as he sang a song about a shepherd’s deep commitment to his sheep.

Merida beat a hasty escape from Clan Dingwall that very night.  In the months since, Niall’s letters to her, for the young lords must always write to her, was as brief and as strange as his conversation (“Today I realized that if you lick someone's elbow while they're not paying attention, they won't notice”). Tonight was the first time she’d seen Niall Dingwall face to face and it seemed as if he intended to continue his polite silence regarding the fiasco.

Merida couldn’t have been more grateful.  She gave Niall a small smile that he carefully avoided and relaxed enough to let her gaze wander. That was when Merida realized how many faces were turned their way—speculative and assessing.  Many ducked their heads as soon as the princess caught sight of them, but Merida’s expression froze nonetheless.  Merida was used to attention; how could she not? She was the first born of Clan DunBroch, the highest born lady of the land.  Still, she could feel traces of shame creeping along her cheeks.

Rumors of her allergic reaction to the sheep raised by the Dingwalls (a little lie that still made her blush with embarrassment and her mother with irritation) spread like fire after her return to DunBroch.  Her brothers laughed themselves sick as soon as they heard.  Alan wrote to say how sorry he was to hear of her illness.  Osgar promised to slay ever sheep of that breed in her name.  

Almost as if he was reading her thoughts, Niall said, “You remind me of a sheep.”

“Pardon?” Merida said eloquently, fighting the urge to flinch.

“I made a song in honor of your beauty.”

Elinor would know what to say.  Merida’s mother never lost her composure or the right words.  But Merida?  She could feel her stomach squirming.  She opened her mouth but no words came.  Instead, Merida coughed awkwardly and looked at everywhere but him.

Niall didn’t seem to mind.  “You must come back and continue your visit to our hall,” he said earnestly, eyes peering intently into hers.  “We—we changed our herd of sheep.  I even burned my clothes and got new ones in case the wool made you sick.”

Merida fought the urge to cringe and laugh at the same time. Behind Niall, she could see Lord Macintosh and Lord Dingwall continue speaking to her mother.  She caught her mother’s eye.  It was only her mother’s almost imperceptible eye roll that relaxed Merida enough to respond courteously, “It was a pleasure to visit your hall, milord.  My mother the Queen is still deciding when to continue my visit.”  Niall twirled her around, and Merida nearly lost her balance.

“Aye, and you should continue your visit with Clan Macintosh,” said Osgar Macintosh, claiming Merida’s hand as her partner.  They missed a step due to Merida’s stumble. Osgar recovered quickly and flicked his hair just so.  Nearby, a group of girls swooned.  Merida hid a snort.  Lean Osgar Macintosh with his glossy black hair and showy swordsmanship thought himself the handsomest man in the Highlands and perhaps he was.  The problem was that he was just as much in love with himself as the rest of the girls were.  “In our last great hunt, I killed the largest boar you’ve ever seen.  If you come to our hall, I will personally show you the head of this fell beast and sing you the ballad of that hunt.”

He tipped his head and sang a few lines loud enough to attract the attention of nearby dancers.  Several ladies clapped enthusiastically.

“Oh, you don’t—”

“Shh,” Osgar pressed a finger against her lips. “I know what you’re going to say.  But you just have to wait to hear more. I can’t give it all away at once.”

Merida jerked her face away from his finger. “That would be…” she took a moment to make sure her voice would not layer her next word with sarcasm.  “A treat.”

Osgar dipped her, an unexpected flourish that made her gasp, and he winked at the lady standing in the sideline just behind Merida.  He pulled her back up again, far too close, and extended his hand so she’d spin out, her skirt flaring.  Merida glimpsed a blur of faces watching them.  

“Look at the two of them,” murmured Lady Macintosh quite loudly from the sidelines.  She nodded approvingly at Merida and Osgar as they passed her.

Her daughter, the beautiful Helen, said in a more appropriate volume, “They dance well together.”

 _Shows what you know,_ Merida thought, turning her head to the side so they wouldn’t see her scowl.  Helen Macintosh was Queen Elinor’s ward for the past few months.  After the fiasco of Merida’s betrothal festival, Elinor sought to soothe the tension between the various clans by committing once more to the tradition of fostering.  Merida was sent to the Dingwalls, as a nod of recognition to the Dingwalls’ right to have Merida’s hand under the old laws.  Niall Dingwall’s close cousin, Cesan, was sent to the remote fortress hall of the MacGuffins.  Alan MacGuffin’s younger brother Gordon was sent to the Macintoshes under Osgar’s tutelage.  Helen, Osgar’s young sister, already famous for her beauty and her genteel manners, was sent to be Elinor’s ward.  

Merida suspected that Elinor wanted Merida to have a companion who was closer to her station in life in the hopes of making her transition to adulthood more bearable.  It was one of the few miscalculations Elinor had ever made as Queen.

When Merida was first told of Helen’s fostering in DunBroch, she imagined somebody like the boys except less disgusting.  She hadn’t expected someone who shadowed Elinor’s every move, listened with rapt attention to every lesson and who imitated Elinor so perfectly.  Having the girl attend to her was like having a miniature disapproving Elinor chained to her hip. It wasn’t long before Merida gave up on befriending the girl and took to avoiding her like the plague.

In the end, it wasn’t much different from how Merida treated Helen’s brother.  Except Merida had no good excuse for ignoring him seeing as he was supposed to be winning her heart.  Frustration lanced through her chest at the absurdity of their position juxtaposed by the eager, watchful faces around them.  

“Who’s the latest supplicant?” Merida asked, interrupting him midstream from describing his newest warhorse.  She meant to keep her tone playful, but her irritation edged her voice into something decidedly less friendly. “I heard you left Lady Mary absolutely brokenhearted from a tryst with her cousin Lady Rielle.”

He blinked, surprise and a flicker of something else breaking his perfectly handsome, perfectly besotted smiling face gazing down at her. “Your jealousy flatters me, but those are only ugly rumors.”

“Who’s gonna break it to them?” Merida snorted. “You or me?”

“Everyone knows you’re the only one who comes close to my noble features and matches my lineage.”

Only years of being grilled on princess-like behavior kept Merida’s mouth from dropping at that.

When he spun her around, she saw that they were dancing past a group of young warriors from Clan Macintosh.  They raised their hands in toast to their young lord and he greeted it with a genial nod.  Beyond them, Merida spotted her father sitting in the throne.  The broad, red-haired king was laughing at something Kincaid, his most trusted war chieftain, said.  They shook hands and Merida could guess they had just placed a bet on something—probably something the Queen wouldn’t like hearing about judging by the sneaky smiles on both Fergus and Kincaid’s faces.  

When Osgar raised their joined hands, Merida had to strain to her tiptoes to keep him from pulling her arm.  There was a whistle behind her.  When she glanced back, she realized that the Macintosh warriors were eyeing her outstretched form lying against Osgar’s lithe frame.  

Merida scowled.  She was a tool in Osgar Macintosh’s arms—an adornment of greater worth than a bracelet but less valuable than a sword.  Incensed, she pulled away and was abruptly yanked back. Merida’s breath exploded from her as she was crushed against him.  She struggled furiously against Osgar’s tall frame, hissing, “What are you—”  

“Stop moving, princess,” Osgar commanded in a low voice.  His dark blue eyes were focused elsewhere.  “There’s something happening at the entrance.”

Merida pushed away from him far enough to realize why Osgar had pulled her against him so suddenly.  The music had stopped and some of the other couples had bumped into each other.  The other young lords had crowded close beside them.

Murmurs rippled throughout the great hall and heads turned.  Alan’s body blocked her view, but Osgar was able to peer around.  “That animal better not show his face,” he muttered.  Then his grip on Merida tightened and he uttered a low hiss, “What are _they_ doing here?”

“Who is it?” Merida asked, shaking off his grip.  When he didn’t answer, she stepped forward but was blocked by Niall Dingwall.

“Princess, you shouldn’t,” he said. His eyes flickered to Osgar’s face before continuing. “It’s naught to do with us.”

“What?” she asked, outraged.  He didn’t budge; he wasn’t even looking at her.  At the corner of her eye, Merida noticed her father King Fergus make his way swiftly down the throne followed by Kincaid.  He joined Queen Elinor and the clan lords as they made their way to the front.  Whispers followed in their wake—loud enough that she could make out some of them. Beside her, the young lords were having their own whispered conversation.

“Half a dozen dirty centurions,” Osgar hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t recognize any of them.”

“They don’t look like simple centurions to me,” Niall whispered. “They look… like warlords?” Though he was a head shorter than most, a simple “excuse me” from him was enough to make people move out of his view.  The lad cursed underneath his breath and his mouth twisted on the strange, foreign word, “Officers… that’s what they call their war leaders.”

“The man in the front is a courier from Titus,” said Alan, squinting his eyes. He muttered something in Doric, too fast for Merida to hear.  At Osgar’s frustrated “ _What?”_ , Alan shook his head and said, “You can tell by the crest on his tunic.  But the others... Really good armor and lots of swords and spears.”

“Too much for simple messengers,” Osgar growled.

Alan shifted to whisper to Niall again and Merida’s view was clear.  At the entrance to the great hall indeed stood a party of Romans with her mother, father and the clan lords.  Nearby, warriors had their hands on the hilts of their weapons. Merida was too far away from them to hear but she recognized the Roman at the very front.  He was one of the few scouts the Roman General trusted to make the trip north to deliver correspondence to the royal family.

This was the first time she saw him with more than two other companions, though.

The messenger bowed then gestured to another man behind.  He was slight compared to the Highlanders surrounding him, but something in the way he tilted his head to survey his surroundings suggested that he wasn’t looking at you so much as he was looking _down_ at you.  Whereas his company wore chainmail hauberks or studded leather armor, he wore the scale armor typical of higher-ranking Romans. Underneath, he wore a long sleeved, purple tunic and dark trousers.  The dark brown cloak hanging from his shoulders brushed his ankles and was stained by mud and travel.  His head was uncovered, though Merida was too far away to make out his features other than short, dark hair and a clean-shaven face.

The man bowed to King Fergus and Queen Elinor and spoke a few words; the messenger hurriedly added his own. Merida realized the messenger must have been translating. As usual, when Merida’s father was unsure, he turned to his wife.  The king and queen exchanged glances, conversations written in the furrow of his brow and the purse of her lips.  The Roman glanced up and spoke a few more words, which the messenger dutifully translated.  Queen Elinor responded then curtsied to the man.  Behind her, King Fergus nodded reluctantly, though the clan lords merely scowled.  Turning, Fergus gestured expansively to the great hall and said loudly, for the benefit of everyone, “Welcome, Lord Andres, to our great hall.  We extend you our welcome and bid you partake in our food, drink and company.”  Queen Elinor clapped her hands and the musicians resumed their playing.

The tension in the room dissolved, though not completely.  Osgar took her hand and they began dancing once more.  Merida didn’t feel much like dancing, but knew that to abandon him in the middle of the song would be shockingly rude.  Still, the princess was distracted. While most people in the hall continued their feasting, Merida felt a certain unease in the air.  Furtive whispers darted past and many eyes flicked to the Romans who had seated themselves by an empty table or scattered to find food and drink.

“I don’t like it,” Osgar said. He had been unusually silent throughout their dance and he hardly paid attention to the ladies who were watching him with desperate eyes.  He seemed to realize his inattention and gave one lass a knowing grin.

 _I don’t like you either,_ _but here we are,_ Merida wanted to say.  Instead, she breathed out through her nose and asked, in a voice carefully wiped clean of her disgust, “Don’t like what?”

“Your Queen Mother is very kind, but to ask Romans to the feast is…” Osgar shook his head.  “We have enough trouble with Clan DunFell.” His dark blue eyes were cloudy in thought.  It was an expression so rare on his face that she had trouble placing it.  He blinked when he saw her stare then drew her in, so close that she felt his breath puff at her curls.  Merida jerked her head away and glared at him, but he only smiled absently.  That was another thing she hated about Osgar.  Sometimes she wasn’t sure if he was courting, truly courting, or if he was just being an idiot.

Merida spied the Romans still sitting by the table near one of the fires.  They were enjoying their food and drink and exchanging excited words with each other.  “What’s there to be afraid of?” Merida asked. While understanding old prejudices, Merida could scarcely see why the clan lords would feel threatened. Most of her father’s warriors towered over all these Romans and there were only a few of them and an army of Highlanders.   “I thought you’d like it if it came to a fight,” Merida added, her mouth curling, “You’ve legendary skills with the sword, if the rumors are true.”

“I didn’t say I was afraid,” Osgar said, stiffening.

“No?” Merida asked sweetly.  This time it was she who pushed into his space, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.  Very deliberately, she turned the wrong way and elbowed Osgar.  “Then what’s not to like?” Merida continued, ignoring Osgar’s oomph of discomfort.  Past Osgar’s shoulder, Merida saw the Lord Andres walk by the line of dancers with Titus’s messenger beside him.  Titus’s messenger looked pale and haggard, but Lord Andres looked composed, even when warriors or clan lords accosted them.

Osgar shook his head again.  This time he was careful to keep her at the proper distance.  “You wouldn’t understand,” Osgar said, a frown gracing his lips instead of its usual laconic smile.  Merida had once wished that Osgar would treat her seriously, instead of one of the girls he was so fond of chasing and leaving.  Now that he wasn’t trying to impress her or flirt with her, Merida found that she liked him even less.

“Why?” asked Merida swiftly, anger creeping into her words.  “Is it because I’m a—“

Their conversation was interrupted by the song’s end.  Merida couldn’t tell if she was angry because she didn’t finish her sentence or glad because it meant she wouldn’t have a very public, heated spat with Osgar.  Merida bowed, scarcely able to contain her emotions, and begged to be allowed to sit though all young lords pressed their invitations for a dance once again.  Lord Dingwall appeared beside her when all but Niall walked away.  “Princess,” greeted Lord Dingwall, a smile on his ruddy face.  “You and Niall dance very well together. Might he have another dance?”

“Thank you, but no,” Merida said, unable to keep the flatness out of her tone.  “Milord is very kind.” _And very obvious_ , she added inwardly.

“Then at least allow Niall to escort you back to the high table,” Lord Dingwall said, oblivious to her tone or perhaps willfully choosing to ignore it.  Merida wasn’t sure which was worse. “The princess should be accompanied to her seat.”

Merida’s brow furrowed.  Her patience was going to run out very quickly if her every step was dogged by a suitor.  Belatedly, Merida could feel the attention of the clansman on her.  The appearance of the Romans had distracted them, but now she could feel sharp eyes marking her every movement and whispers stalking her steps, assessing and speculating. Who would she pick? Of course she would pick the handsome Osgar Macintosh.  No, Lord Dingwall had the most lands.  But Alan MacGuffin was the gentlest of her suitors.

“Is it because of the Romans?” Merida asked.  At Lord Dingwall’s raised brow, Merida explained, “I think I’ll be safe walking unescorted in my father’s hall.”  She smiled a little to soften her words though her fist was clenched tightly.  “They are only messengers, milord. It’ll take a stronger, braver man to harm the princess.”

“They’re Romans, Princess,” Lord Dingwall said, as if explaining a simple concept to a child, “and these are no mere messengers.”

“What are they, then?” Merida asked, surprise masking her irritation.

“You don’t need to worry, Princess,” Lord Dingwall said.  “The Dingwalls will take care of it for you.” He glanced over her shoulder and when Merida turned, she saw Lord Macintosh gesturing for Lord Dingwall.  “Go on, Niall,” Lord Dingwall said hurriedly. “Make sure the princess gets back to her throne.”  With that, he walked off.

Merida focused on letting her breath and frustration out in one noisy exhale.  What she really wanted to do was gnash her teeth and rave, but even Niall would notice that.

“Princess?” Niall stepped closer. He was staring at her again with that strange expression in his eyes and Merida felt suffocated—trapped.  His arm rose to hover around her back as he gestured to the throne. “Please, come with me.”

“No, Niall,” Merida batted his hand aside. “This is my castle—my home. I’ve walked to the throne a million times. No one will attack me. I’m the princess.”

Quick as a flash, his hand whipped out and grabbed her arm. “This time it’s different. It’s _because_ you’re the princess that you should have an escort.”

Merida stopped, not so much from his grip, but from the shock. His wide, serious eyes and dark frown, so different from his airy absent-mindedness or nonsensical comments, were strange to her.

 

 

Niall was very nearly bowled over by an elderly woman in a sumptuous wine-dark gown and a white wimple.  Her wine cup clattered to the ground and made a dark red puddle on the floor.  “Oh, how clumsy of you!” exclaimed the woman with all the self righteous, insulted pride of an elder woman well used to getting her way.

It was Lady Ailis, her great aunt from her mother’s side, and a great terror amongst the noble clan families for her sharp mouth and sharper wit.  Ailis was the daughter of the old Lord Graham and the recent widow of Jamie, a renowned war hero and chieftain from Clan Campbell.  Now in her advanced years as the sole lady of Eilean Donan Castle, a small estate surrounded by rich farmland and boarded by a river oft-used by travelers, and with her niece as Queen of DunBroch, Ailis had the enviable position of giving her rather strident opinion to anyone at any time.

“I’m so sorry,” Niall steadied the older woman.  His pale blue eyes were wide with fear.  Apparently, Lady Ailis’s reputation preceded her.  “I didn’t realize—“

“Well?” Lady Ailis shook off his hand.

Niall blinked.

“Stop apologizing, young man, and start fetching!” Ailis pointed one talon-like finger towards the tables. “Gawking is not nearly good enough to accompany an apology.  When I was a maiden, I’d hardly go a foot without a handsome lad offering me a plate of food, a cup of wine or his arm to lean on much less if he’d knocked into me.  Or do you think old women are less deserving of such courtesies because we sag?”

“I—of course, I didn’t—“ Niall stammered, thrown by her accusation. He seemed to shrink under her glare.

“I don’t want to hear excuses.” Her face was lined with age, but that only made her scowl even more ferocious.  “Just go! I’ll keep the princess company.”

Niall scurried to obey.

“Aunt Ailis!” Merida hugged her great aunt close, murmuring, “I am so glad to see you.”

“Strange lad, that.”

“You’ve no idea.” She made sure Niall was lost in the crowds before steering her aunt in the opposite direction.  “Quick, let’s start walking before he has a chance to get back.”

“Running’s not your style, my dear,” said Lady Ailis in bemusement.  She turned willingly, however, and the pair lost themselves in the shifting crowds. “Didn’t you once laugh at a boy four years your elder and shamed him from ever setting foot in DunBroch?”

“He proposed to me when I was ten,” the princess rolled her eyes. They skirted the dance floor and strode past the musicians with their bagpipes, lutes and fiddles. “Back then, all I wanted was to be a hero.  It’s not my fault I always beat him in practice sword fighting.”

“Is Niall Dingwall better than you at sword fighting then?” Lady Ailis’s smile was sardonic. Despite that her aunt’s pace was the mincing walk of little old ladies, they were given a wide berth by the partygoers.  Ailis surveyed them all with barely disguised amusement in her lively brown eyes.

“I haven’t had the chance to find out.”  Merida slowed her pace to match her aunt, though she was impatient to be on the other end of the hall before Niall returned.  Despite Ailis’s composure, her grip on Merida’s arm trembled and Merida didn’t remember her aunt ever needing to lean so heavily on her before.   Distracted, Merida continued, “The Dingwalls frowned on having the princess practice with their warriors.  Guess they heard about me beating Roland too.”

Her aunt laughed loudly, drawing the glances of those around them.  Merida relaxed at the sound.  She liked her aunt’s laugh.  It was bold as brass and cared not a whit for the opinions of others.  Lady Ailis’s visits were few and far between, but Merida cherished all of them.  Ailis encouraged Elinor to give Merida more freedom.  When she was ten and Elinor so exasperated from having to chase Merida away from the forest, Ailis convinced Elinor to apprentice the wayward princess to a hunter named Linus.  Ailis reasoned that nothing was going to stop Merida from going into the woods, so it was better to give her the skills she needed to survive.

As they walked the hall, Merida plied her aunt with questions about the fertile lands south of DunBroch and the beautiful Eilean Donan Castle that was Ailis’s home.  Lady Ailis told her of the many hunts and the increasing number of traders coming through the outposts.

“Your mum’s a sharp lass.” Ailis motioned a servant forward with an imperious wave of a hand that glittered with a silver ring set with a ruby.  The servant bowed and offered them cups of wine.  “She makes trading easy, levies small taxes, and ships starts pouring into DunBroch.  It’s bold.”

“It’s kept dad and his war chieftains busy enough for months making sure everyone complied, but it’s paid off.” Merida remembered the days and weeks she wouldn’t see her father or Kincaid or the other war chieftains as they tried to settle some dispute or forcibly maintain Elinor’s protection of the trading vessels.  The clans hadn’t been happy to open up to outsiders, but they’d calmed down once they saw the goods flowing in.  “And Linus?”

“He brings half the game all by himself even though he’s twice the age of most of the hunters.” Ailis kept Linus as the chief hunter for Eilean Donan castle after Merida finished her apprenticeship.  It had been years since the princess had seen her old teacher, and she missed him terribly.“He’s been distracted by rumors coming from Antonine’s Wall, though.”

They passed a table with two warriors competing in a drinking game.  The crowd around the pair was cheering and counting the cups.  Ailis downed her own cup before snatching one from the table much to the dismay of the warriors.

“That’s my teacher,” smiled Merida, a dimple in her cheek.  “Always paranoid.” It was a useful quality when out in the wilds by oneself, but Linus’s grim predictions tended to take things as innocuous as the shape of a cloud wildly out of proportion.  The princess took a cup from the competitors as well, just to make it fair, and flashed them both a grin.  The warriors jostled each other at the princess’s attention.  “Could he not come?”

“Linus would rather hunt lions than go to parties,” said Ailis, nodding to a lady with an upturned nose and was trailed by two servants. Loudly, Ailis said, “Lady Rowena, nice to see you.”  The lady nodded in return stiffly.  “Fatter than ever.  You must keep away from the sweets, dear.”

Merida stifled a giggle.

“This feast does your clan credit,” said Ailis, gazing at the spread.  Merida nodded.  The princess had never seen the castle look quite so festive. The floor was scrubbed, the furniture polished and every nook and cranny dusted.  Fragrant threshes were laid out for their visitors and colorful banners festooned poles.  King Fergus’s hunting trophies were laid out in menacing attention throughout the great hall.

At the head of the hall was the throne—cleaned and waxed so that the wood shone in the soft candlelight and the flicker of the four roaring fireplaces. In honor of the visiting clansmen, three handsome long tables had been set.  Near the end of each table hung the banner of a clan—the lyre for Clan Macintosh, the stone of Clan Dingwall, and the cauldron of Clan MacGuffin. Interspersed among the long tables were smaller tables set out for the smaller clans, resident castellans, important members of Clan Dunbroch, visiting warriors, wandering bards, prominent landowners, merchants and crofters.  Dogs ran freely amongst the dancing feet and underneath tables.  Merida spotted one of her brothers, a huge grin on his angelic, freckled face, riding a vicious-looking hunting hound that, in reality, was as meek as a lamb.

“Aye,” Merida nodded, smiling fondly at her brother.  She downed her cup, a heady sweet wine that made her head spin.  “It’s the first time all the clans have gathered together as one.”

“It’s a shame,” Ailis shook her head.  Her footsteps turned to a small alcove with a window that overlooked the courtyard.  The alcove was occupied by one of Helen’s followers, a Lady Brenda who spoke in teasing tones with a warrior.  With one look from Lady Ailis, the couple beat a hasty retreat.  “The stronger you are, the more enemies you have.”

“Now you sound like Linus,” Merida laughed. She helped her aunt settle in chair recently vacated by Lady Brenda.  The older woman looked tired already though they couldn’t have been walking for more than ten minutes.

“I wonder that we all don’t sound more like Linus.”  Her tone was completely devoid of all amusement or irony.  

It made Merida frown.  “What do you mean?”

“Child, you can’t be like…” Her aunt shrugged then pointed towards the newest members of her father’s war-band.  These were young lads having lately been trusted to take up the sword and the shield in the name of their king.  They had none of the experience of the older warriors, but twice the swagger.  They cheered as two of their friends began punching each other.  “Times _are_ changing.”

“I know that.” Merida cocked her hip to the one side, lips pursed.  “I agreed to be fostered at the Dingwalls, didn’t I? Every time any of the young lords come, I’m at their beck and call.  I attend all my lessons.  I’m present at every important dinner. I can name every lord, his family, their clan name, their banners and their halls.”

“Then do you know who _he_ is?” Ailis nodded to Andres who was standing several feet away talking to one of his men.  

“Lord Andres.” What had Romans to do with anything? “He came with one of General Titus’s messengers.”

Ailis’s brown eyes narrowed in thought, and she shifted so that her back was to Andres. “D’you’ve any idea why he’s here instead of the General?”

“I tried asking but Lord Dingwall said not to worry,” Merida shook her head and took a long drink, disappointed when it ran empty. “General Titus probably felt bad for not being able to come and sent someone else important in his place.”  She waved to a servant to take the cup away.  Once he was out of earshot, she uttered a low oath, “I just hate the way the lords treat me.” Her thoughts felt a wee bit fuzzy and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything at all today.  She’d been far too preoccupied “entertaining” her young lords and now her belly was full of wine.

“You should care,” Ailis said sharply in the rare tone of voice she’d used when she was seriously displeased with her niece.  “Visiting Romans is not something to ignore.”  She surveyed Merida sternly from the rim of her cup.  Abruptly, Merida felt like she was eight again.

“The clansmen give me more problems than Lord whoever sitting on a wall,” Merida folded her arms, scowling. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than visiting outlanders.”

“Linus told me of some strange things south of Antonine’s Wall. And the silence from lands held by the DunFells troubles me.”

“Aren’t there always rumors or terrible stories coming from the DunFell lands?” At her great aunt’s reluctant nod, the princess continued, “Now that there’s nothing, you get worried?”

“It just doesn’t make sense. Ever since the new lord ascended, that area’s been dead quiet. Usually, it’s full of petty clans fighting each other.”

“With the help of Lord Macintosh and Kincaid, Lord DunFell settled the fighting.”

“Is that what your parents told you?” asked Ailis in the same tone that made Merida rethink her words.  Merida gave her aunt a disgruntled look and Ailis finally laughed.  “Just take care,” Lady Ailis said.  “Times are changing, princess.”

“Enough about me,” Merida tossed her hair to the side impatiently.  The wine made her flush with warmth.  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve avoided all questions about yourself.”

Lady Ailis avoided Merida’s gaze and looked out at the hall. “Only boring things happen to little old ladies, Princess,” Ailis raised a cup to her lips.

Merida hesitated then bent down, brow creased,  “We were so worried when Lord Jamie died.”

Lady Ailis stiffened, her wine cup centimeters from her mouth.  Merida eyed with her concern.  After a few moment’s silence, Merida added, “Mum wanted to come right away but Lord Donal said…”

“Aye, Clan Campbell wanted to keep it to themselves,” Ailis said with a strange, bitter smile on her face.  “Can’t have strangers seeing family wounds, can we?”

“Aunt?” Merida asked.  Abruptly, she jerked back into the shadows as much as she could.  Alan MacGuffin passed within a few feet of them.  His eyes were red-rimmed and he clutched a tankard of ale tightly in one fist.  He looked as though he were near tears or too far gone into his cups. Strange.  Alan was one of the few warriors she knew who didn’t drink until they were overcome.  Thankfully, the lad passed her without ever noticing.

“Tell me, are your suitors so frightening that you must run away from them at your own birthday?”

Merida made a face at her aunt. “I’m not scared of them,” she said, scowling.  “It’s just... everywhere I go, everywhere I turn, I trip over a young lord.  And there’s people watching, always watching, and waiting for me to magically fall in love with one of them.  I need some room to breathe.  That’s all!”  It was lucky that the room was so noisy.  Otherwise, her outburst might have drawn some attention.  But the Great Hall was full of people laughing and talking, of music and the sound of dancing feet, and the clatter of cups and trenchers.

         “A sheep-free breath?”

         Merida blushed.  “Has the whole country heard that?” she asked through gritted teeth.

         “No doubt it’s passed Antonine’s Wall and has gone as far north as the Barbaric Archipelagos,” smirked Lady Ailis.  “Really, Merida, if you couldn’t come up with a better story, then you should have just told the truth.”

“Oh, that’ll go over very well. Lord and Lady Dingwall, I can’t stay in your hall anymore because your son keeps staring at me and can’t seem to tell me why and now he’s started singing to me and I don’t know what do about it anymore.”

            Lady Ailis guffawed.  “I know Elinor keeps you sheltered, Princess, but I’m sure even you know what it means when a boy can’t speak to you about his feelings.”

“He doesn’t even know me. And I don’t know him.  I only stayed in their hall for three weeks.  He’s a good lad, decent really, but he’s just so … _queer_.”

Ailis’s hand on Merida’s arm stopped her short.  When Merida turned to look at her little aunt, the woman’s face was solemn.  “A decent man is rare these days, Princess,” she said.  “Do not sell that quality short in spite of his other less attractive features.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” frowned Merida.  “Your husband was one of the greatest warriors in his time.  Women lost their hearts to him.”

“As I said,” repeated Lady Ailis.  “Decent men are rare. Now, I think I’ll go up to my chambers, my dear.  I’m feeling very tired.”

 

After Merida escorted her aunt to her chamber, she picked her way through the busy throng and tried to dispel the effects of the ale. The castle had never been so crowded.  When her mother decided to expand the castle, she thought her mother mad.  Castle DunBroch was beautiful exactly the way it was.  But, as usual, her mother proved herself a wise woman.  With the unification of the clans, the castle had never housed more people.  Warriors and visiting lords populated the halls and used the newly renovated rooms.  The servants’ quarters had also been expanded to accommodate the needs of the various castellans and visitors. Using the increased revenue from trading policies she’d firmly enforced, the Queen redecorated and renovated existing rooms for increased comfort, efficiency and elegance.  Elinor was known throughout the lands for her excellent taste and the refurbished Castle DunBroch was testimony to that.  The feast should have felt chaotic and claustrophobic, but it didn’t.  There was an order to the chaos, an invisible dance to which the servants and even the lords moved to, and she knew her mother was the one pulling the strings.

Pausing, Merida observed her mother.  As usual, Queen Elinor was surrounded by a bevy of people.  Lord Dingwall, Macintosh and MacGuffin had been replaced with their ladies and attendants.  They were surveying the great hall and murmuring amongst themselves.  She knew her mother couldn’t have been comfortable.  Merida knew from experience that Lady Macintosh was prone to criticism, Lady Dingwall full of feigned graciousness, and Lady MacGuffin demanding.  But none of it showed on Elinor’s face.  Her composure never slipped, her shoulders never sagged and her voice was always calm and even.  Elinor was beautiful, wise, gracious and mature—qualities Merida tried to but could never really emulate.  Elinor would have known what to say to Osgar Macintosh, Lord Dingwall and Niall Dingwall.

Her name spoken aloud caught her attention.  Merida realized that she had wandered near the Lord Andres and Titus’s messenger.  The messenger had some more color to his cheeks now that he held a flagon of ale, but his eyes were still anxious.  Small wonder with several Highlanders staring at them with open dislike.  The messenger spoke to Andres in their own language but she heard her name often enough to realize that the messenger was telling Andres who she was.  He nodded to Merida and gestured to the dance floor.  Andres glanced once at Merida.  Merida was surprised to find him handsome.  She rarely thought that of men and she’d seen many parading around her in the hopes of catching her eye.  But Andres was handsome, startlingly so.  He had sharply defined cheekbones and dark curls framed a face that looked surprisingly young for one with so severe an expression.  He couldn’t have been that much older than her.  He looked slim compared to her father, but Merida realized that Andres was by no means thin.  He lacked the brute muscle of many Highland warriors but he didn’t lack in strength.  The long, lean lines of his body suggested the lion rather than the bear. His eyes, though, were the most striking feature of his eyes.  They were light gray, a striking contrast to his dark hair, and they glanced at her, through her, then dismissed her. Andres shook his head and grinned sardonically.  Merida didn’t need to hear the words to know she’d been slighted.

The princess narrowed her eyes.  Andres glanced at her once more but only bowed mockingly in her direction.  Merida started forward, the spirits making her bold and short-tempered, but the sound of her mother’s laughter stopped her.  Merida glanced over her shoulder to see the Queen laughing with Lady MacGuffin.  Of the three ladies, Merida knew Elinor found Lady MacGuffin the most difficult.  Merida sighed and made her way back up to the high table where Kincaid was conversing with Fergus.  As soon as she drew near, they stopped abruptly.  Merida pursed her lips in annoyance, but this soon faded when Kincaid wrapped her in a bear hug.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little red-haired lass I used to rescue off of rooftops,” Kincaid said, laughing.  Kincaid was one of her father’s most trusted warriors. He grew up with Fergus and served in Fergus’s father’s war-band before the old Lord of DunBroch died.  Through fire and sword, Kincaid remained one of Fergus’s strongest supporters and a formidable chief in their wars against the Vikings. He often went out with a company of warriors to decide some dispute or handle small raids.  Queen Elinor favored him because, unlike many of Fergus’s warriors, he was a calm and patient man who preferred to wait and assess the situation rather than rushing into battle. He had only recently returned to the castle after settling the dispute with the DunFell clan.

“Now it’s my brothers you have to rescue off rooftops,” Merida laughed after he set her down.  Kincaid pulled out a chair and Merida sat down gratefully.

“No, no,” Kincaid said, “You are the first and last DunBroch I’ll help off rooftops.  Your brothers are much smarter and know how to get themselves down from high places.”  He sat down beside her, easy and laughing.  Merida hadn’t realized how much she missed him.

“Too smart for their own good,” Fergus rumbled from the throne.  Merida’s father looked imposing tonight.  The king had not escaped Elinor’s clutches, though he had certainly tried.  Elinor had gifted him with a brand new chainmail hauberk, the finest the smiths of the kingdom had ever crafted made from the hardest steel, and he wore the ceremonial leather armor of the DunBroch lords over it.  The fur cape he wore belonged to his grandfather who, legend had it, wrestled with a bear barehanded and won.  It gleamed rich and dark in the firelight.  But for all that he looked every inch the king tonight, Fergus was and always would be a father to Merida first.  Fergus winked at Merida before draining his goblet. “For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how you got to the roof without knowing how to climb down. You gave your mother such a fright and scared years off my life.”

Merida shook her head, grinning.  “I don’t remember much of it,” she confessed.

“Well, I do,” said Kincaid, slamming his flagon down the table so hard ale spilled out.  “You were crying tears enough to fill the lake because… who was it, milord?”  Kincaid paused in his retelling to bite an apple and spit the seeds out. “Some young lad, her playmate was going away… Aye, it was milady Queen’s friend—Valhallarama’s boy!” Kincaid snapped his fingers and tossed the apple away. “Barf? Burp?  Some strange name, I don’t recall.  You were told that the young lad wasn’t coming back and you swore you wouldn’t come down until he did.”

“I’d never!” Merida snapped, blushing hotly.  “I don’t even know who Valhallarama is.”

“You don’t?” asked Kincaid, shooting her an odd look. “Valhallarama used to visit your mum all the time when you were young.  You’d run off and get into all sorts of trouble with her son.  I thought—“

“Leave her alone,” Fergus said.  Merida felt a fierce gratitude to her father.  “Now she’s got three _fine_ young lads vying for her hand.” The gratitude died a quick death. Merida glared at her father who only laughed.

“Phew,” Kincaid said, standing up and taking his flagon with him.  “I forgot how terrifying your glares are, Princess.  I’ll take my ale to someone who’ll appreciate our wit.”  He winked at Merida, bowed to Fergus and walked away.  When Merida turned back to her father, Fergus was still wearing the same huge grin that let her know she wasn’t off the hook yet.

“Don’t you start,” Merida said, rolling her eyes as she walked over to her seat next to her father. Servants whisked the dishes Fergus emptied and replaced it with newer dishes bearing desserts.  As if by magic, Hamish appeared with hands outstretched to grab a cake.  Merida caught her younger brother in her arms and sat him on her lap. “Now, it’s your turn to sit by me and keep away those suitors,” she said, shaking a stern finger at her brother.  “You promised to help me tonight.”

Hamish only laughed and patted her cheek.

“Oh, all right, ya wee devil,” sighed the princess. “Go on and have your dessert then.” The boy took three cakes and ran to the dance floor.

“Maybe you’ve got them wrapped a little too tightly around your little finger,” said Fergus, biting through an apple with a loud crunch.  “Want me to have a talk with them?” Fergus smiled and cracked his knuckles ominously.

For a moment, Merida seriously considered it.  Her father could give them a stern talking to—maybe even a stiff scare.  But for what? For why?  Unbidden, she recalled Lady Ailis's words.  They _were_ decent lads. They hadn’t done anything wrong.  They were just… being suitors.  “The boys aren’t… bad,” Merida said reluctantly.

Fergus raised a wiry brow at her in disbelief, “No one else can hear us at the high table, you know.”

“It’s true,” Merida protested weakly. “Niall can be strange sometimes, Osgar cocky and Alan shy as a newborn foal but… They’re good lads. I can be friends with them.”  Merida’s brow furrowed and she added, “Probably.”

“If you say so,” Fergus said, raising a toast to a warrior who just entered the hall.  Then he shrugged, “Aye, you’re probably right.  I had my misgivings about the other lords too but nowhere will you find truer friends and allies.”  The king sampled a cake and sighed in pleasure.  He offered his daughter a taste but Merida wasn’t hungry. “What’s the matter, lass? You look far too troubled for your birthday.”

“            It’s just…” Merida hesitated.  For once, she let her insecurities and worries crowd her young face though she was in front of all the clans. “I want to do right by the clans, Dad.  I know that means becoming a proper lady to one of the young lords. But… I don’t know if I can.”

Fergus smiled and cupped Merida’s slim shoulder in his wide hand. “Merida, you’ve got the strength of your father and the wisdom of your mother,” he said.  The warmth of his hand seeped through the fabric of her beautiful green gown—an early birthday present from her mother—and gave her some small comfort.  “You’ll make a fine lady—just like your mum was when she was your age.”

“That’s just it, Dad,” Merida sighed, shoulders drooping.  She plucked at the bell sleeves of her dress.  Though they were celebrating her seventeenth birthday, Merida suddenly felt like she was a child again dressing up in her mother’s clothing.  “That’s not me. I’m not… I’m not like _mum_ …”

Whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by Elinor’s arrival.  The queen reminded them that it was time for the gift-giving ceremony.  Her father gave her one last encouraging pat then Merida straightened up quickly and moved to her place in front of the high table.  Many of the visiting clan lords gave her small treasures.  An emissary from Clan DunFell presented her with a small silver bracelet.  Lady Alerie, the current Lady of Clan Campbell, presented her with a beautiful night blue silk cloth.  But the gifts Merida treasured most were from her family and the residents of Castle DunBroch.  Kincaid gave her new bracers.  Her brothers gave her a very _interpretive_ drawing of the castle.  Lady Ailis’s attendant gave her a gold brooch in the shape of a bow and arrow.  The Romans were near the end.  The messenger stepped forward and translated haltingly Lord Andres’s words.

“General Titus wishes to convey his deepest regrets to the Princess for not being able to come to her birthday,” said the messenger.  But Merida wasn’t even paying attention.  She stared coolly at Lord Andres who kept his face bland as he gazed back and said words in his own language.  Though his manner was polite, something in his eyes expressed disdain. “My Lord Andres was told by General Titus of his affection for the royal family and bid him bring his present in his stead,” said the messenger.  As the messenger finished, Lord Andres stepped close.  He smelled like rain and leather and horse and something else—a spice or perfume that she’d never smelled before.  Though he was slender, he had a way of filling up the space around him.  He stood no closer than the others who had given her presents, but it felt far more intimate—or intimidating, Merida couldn’t decide.

Lord Andres gave her a small package.  She unwrapped it with steady hands though she could feel his unnerving gaze on her.  Underneath was a small box filled with seeds.  She looked up in askance at Andres but he didn’t speak.  He simply stared at her face.  Merida could feel a growing rumble around her.  She thought she heard Lord Dingwall’s agitated whisper.  Merida didn’t care. If he thought he could scare her, then Lord Andres knew nothing, knew even less than the clan lords.  She was the daughter of the Bear King, the firstborn of Clan DunBroch.  She was not afraid. She lifted her chin and raised a brow.

“General Titus knew… General Titus said you often liked hearing about his campaigns to the east,” the messenger said, uncomfortable with the silence.  “These are seeds of flowers that bloom in lands far to the east and south. He thought they might remind you of his stories.”

It was a thoughtful present, Merida knew, even if she had the worst green thumb.  If given by another man, another _Roman_ , she would have smiled and thanked him sincerely.  Instead, Merida inclined her head and said tersely, “Lord Andres honors me. Give General Titus my thanks and tell him that the princess desires his presence in the next occasion. His replacement is unsatisfactory.” Andres quirked his brow and the messenger looked stricken.  From behind her, she heard his mother whisper her name in warning. Merida didn’t care.  She treated Andres to the same smile he’d given her earlier, “Gifts are sweeter from the giver. In all other respects, Andres lives to the reputation of Romans.”  The messenger translated her words.  She waited for Andres to frown at her, irritation or anger blazing in the depths of his light eyes.  But there was nothing.  His composure never broke; he didn’t frown.  He simply nodded and bowed.

Merida let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.  Abruptly, she heard the whispers circulating the room around her, even above the sound of music.  She blinked and handed her gift to her mother who was frowning at her.  Merida shrugged and turn to face her remaining gift-givers.  At the end of the line were the young lords and their fathers. These were the important ones—the young lords’ gifts represented the goodwill of their respective clans.

“Princess Merida,” Osgar gave a deep excessive bow.  

Merida fought not to roll her eyes.

“For your birthday, I present you this looking glass,” he took a moment to check his reflection before continuing, “so that you may admire your beauty at any time.”  As usual, the end of Osgar’s speech was punctuated by the swooning of several ladies.  Osgar’s father, Lord Macintosh, nodded approvingly.  The looking glass was a beautiful work of art.  The bright glass was set against a wooden frame with small, jade stones punctuating its circumference.  The back of the frame was inlaid with the carvings of bears, swords, lyres and fish. Carved against the handle was a small inscription, “For the fairest face in all the land.” No doubt Osgar was thinking of himself when he asked the craftsman to carve this.

“I—thank you,” replied Merida in a high stilted tone, “It’s… exactly what I wanted.”  To the side, she saw her father barely hiding his laughter while Elinor elbowed him.  Her mother gave her an encouraging smile.  “I will treasure this gift as a sign of our continued friendship,” Merida finished by rote, setting the present aside.

“My dear Princess Merida,” the Lord MacGuffin approached her.  Merida blinked in surprise. She expected Alan to present the MacGuffin gift.  Alan was nowhere to be seen but there was a young woman with brown hair and eyes dressed in the plain attire of the servants.  Lord MacGuffin clasped Merida’s hands in his.  “My son begs leave to be excused but an important message from our hall arrived and needed to be attended to.  Instead, I will present his gift to you.”  He gestured to the young woman to approach.  This close, Merida could see the expression on the girl’s face—sadness, hurt and, most of all, fear.  Her hands trembled though she tried to hide it in her skirts.  She bowed unsteadily to Merida and kept kneeling.

“M-my princess,” the girl said in a voice that tried not to tremble.

“This is Sima,” Lord MacGuffin clasped the girl’s shoulder.  “Sadly, her family was killed by raiding Vikings but she was saved by my son Alan in a heroic, bold rescue.  Though her life is owed to my clan, I thought the princess of DunBroch would have far better use of such a servant.  Sima is a sweet, gentle lass—useful, skilled at needlepoint, a very good cook and soft-spoken.  Everything a princess should require of a companion!”

Merida tried not to let Lord MacGuffin see her horror.  She had no objections to Sima, but the thought of handing off a servant who belonged to one clan and passing it off to another—as though they were objects and not people!  She knew that some servants were attached to households.  They owed their life to the clan family whether through debt or honor and the lords held ultimate control of their fate.  But such servants of Clan DunBroch had always been treated like family.  She could never imagine her father or mother giving one as a gift to another clan.  She could see Fergus’s frown and the other lords whispering amongst themselves. She glanced at Elinor who was staring intently at Sima and then at Lord MacGuffin.  The Queen noticed Merida’s stare and nodded.

“Sima is most welcome to the service of Clan DunBroch,” said Merida abruptly in a silence that had perhaps gone too long.  Sima’s face had grown deathly pale in the interim and she hadn’t stopped trembling. Merida held out her hand and drew Sima up.  The girl had a square, thoughtful face with a large mouth.   Long, sooty lashes framed her brown eyes.  She was not a very attractive girl but something in her expression and mannerism spoke of much warmth.  She looked disconcerted to be holding the hand of the princess and tried to curtsy again.  “Sima,” Merida touched the girl’s shoulder gently.  The girl glanced up at her.  “I hope we become great friends.”  She turned back to Lord MacGuffin and said in frostier tones, “I thank you.  I will treasure this gift as a sign of our continued friendship.”  The lord bowed to the princess and moved on.  Merida gestured for Sima to stand beside her.  The girl did so, still trembling.

Finally, Niall approached—the last of the gift-givers.  Thankfully, a servant did not accompany him.  Instead, Niall had in his hands a lyre and a familiar glint in his eyes.  “Princess, your beauty inspired me to write a passionate song declaring my fervent admiration.” His voice stumbled and color rose high in his cheek.  To the side, his father elbowed his neighbors and pointed at his son, clearly pleased, before snapping his fingers. Nearby, the minstrels readied their fiddles, lyre and pipes.  The song commenced and Niall began to sing.

“Oh, hells, he wasn’t joking about the cursed song,” Merida muttered, face turning red. The tune was actually quite catchy and she caught more than a few of the guests nodding their head or stomping to the beat of the song.  When he tried to liken Merida’s hair to that of a sheep, Merida felt her guts start shriveling up out of shame. She caught Osgar and his father snickering in the corner.  Merida thought that Fergus was having the shakes until she realized that he was only trembling in the effort to keep his laughter silent.  At the corner of her eye, she caught the Romans standing to the side.  Andres’s face was tranquil but she caught the messenger grinning and whispering to the others. The few minutes the song went on were the longest few minutes Merida had ever experienced.  The last note had barely trailed off before she said in a loud voice.  “I thank you for such a beautiful ballad, milord. I will treasure this gift as a sign of our continued friendship.”

The guests applauded and Niall bowed, for once alert and pleased with himself.  Osgar asked for an encore of the song and Niall gladly obliged.  She was so focused on keeping the horror from her face that she didn’t notice Sima glancing curiously at her.  When the crowd asked for a third rendition, Merida could bear it no longer.  She curtsied to her mother and fled the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeahh, Merida's part is huge compared to Hiccup's. I had a lot more ground to cover in terms of reintroducing old characters, introducing new ones and alluding to significant political changes in the Highlands. I swear I tried breaking it up, but it just ended up being a lot in the first go. The chapter lengths will even out later on. Let me know what you think! Constructive criticisms and words of encouragement are greatly welcome.
> 
> I should have mentioned this before, but CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other.
> 
> Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on tumblr. My username is Nessalk. Come check it out!


	3. Descendants of Grimbeard the Ghastly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Hooligans prepare for war

The flight to Berk was, in a word, frosty.  Ruffnut, Tuffnut, Fishlegs and Snotlout had spent hours trekking through the dark island without protection of their dragons and occasionally ambushing or being ambushed by rogue Outcasts.  By the time they made their way back to camp, they were tired and wounded.  Their mood was not improved by news of Dagur’s rescue.  Once they learned they had Hiccup to thank for that, Hiccup was lucky Snotlout was so tired he could barely lift his axe let alone swing it.

“Let me handle this,” Hiccup pleaded to the others as soon as they were safe in the air.  “Give me some to think about what say to my dad.”

“What is there to think about?” Astrid asked, brows creased and mouth set in a scowl.  “There’s no plan that can make this situation any better.”

“Unless you count killing Dagur and making it look like a wild dragon attack,” said Snotlout nearby.  Though too weary to hit his cousin, Snotlout was never too tired to make his feelings known verbally.  His angry rant crescendoed to such a degree that even Tuffnut told him calm him down or else risk attracting more Outcast attention.  After that, Snotlout had ignored Hiccup for most of the flight over although that didn’t stop his impressively rude muttering from reaching Hiccup from time to time.

“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Fishlegs said, brow creasing in thought. “We could just blow his whole longship out of the water.”  He flinched at the glare Hiccup leveled his way or maybe it was Meatlug’s sudden drop. Meatlug was so tired that she would drop a few feet every so often. “Just thinking out loud.”

“For once, my friend, I actually like how you think,” Tuffnut grinned. Of all the Vikings, Tuffnut seemed the least concerned over the situation.  But then again, Hiccup couldn’t be sure that Tuffnut or Ruffnut had the capacity to grasp _any_ situation more complicated than fighting or causing trouble. “As it happens, I’m the master of blowing things up.”

“No, _I’m_ the master of blowing things up.” Ruffnut swerved to elbow her brother in the side.  Tuffnut’s particularly high-pitched yelp made his sister snigger uncontrollably before she said in a calmer, more level voice,  “If we go now, we could probably catch up with Dagur’s longship before it reaches Hysteria.”

“Perfect!” Snotlout’s enforced quiet time seemed only to make him even more belligerent. “Let’s do it now.” Snotlout sighted by the North Star and directed Hookfang southwest.

“How about no?” said Hiccup sharply.  Without any prompting, Toothless immediately blocked Hookfang’s way, fangs bared.

“I’m not listening to you anymore,” shouted Snotlout. Hookfang released a sulfurous breath almost in unison. “Ever since you got Toothless, it’s been Snotlout, do this, Snotlout, do that.  Well, guess what? I’ve got a dragon now too and I’ve lead three attacks, defended six settlements and done rescue missions all by myself.”

“Didn’t the sheep you were rescuing die?” Tuffnut’s pitted helm hung long over his singed brow, giving him a particularly frazzled and confused look. “Does a rescue mission count if you lose the rescuee?”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t,” concurred Ruff.  Unlike her brother, Ruffnut looked none the worse for wear but for the dark smudges underneath her eye.  

“Doesn’t matter!” Snotlout reddened.  “How many attacks has Hiccup lead?”

“I’ve defended settlements too, Snotlout.” Hiccup tried to quell the mounting irritation in his chest.  “More solo scouting missions than anyone else in the village. And I haven’t lost anyone in all the rescues I’ve done.  Including sheep.”

“Yeah?” Snotlout sneered. “How many Outcasts have you killed?” At Hiccup’s silence, Snotlout jeered, “That’s right. _None_. Even Fishbrains—”           

“Fishlegs,” said Fishlegs, yelping at Meatlug’s sudden drop.

“Fishbrains,” continued Snotlout as though he hadn’t heard, “has killed one or two.  Kids younger than you have killed more Outcasts.  You just keep taking them _prisoner_. As if we _needed_ more people to feed. How backwards is that?”  He turned to the rest of the dragon riders.  “He hasn’t been pulling his weight in ages. Why are we even listening to him?”

There was a pregnant silence after that, made all the more awful by the whistling of the wind and the beat of dragon wings. Hiccup very firmly kept his glare on Snotlout.  Right now, he couldn’t bear to see what might be on the twins’ face, or Fishlegs or, worse, Astrid.

“Can it, Snotlout,” snapped Astrid.  Stormfly’s tail twitched jerkily, spikes slowly rising. “We’ve all done our share in this fight.  And if you think that number of kills qualifies you to be the leader, then I’m number one.  I’ve got more kills than all of you combined.”

“What _do_ you think we should do, Astrid?” Fishlegs seemed eager to divert the tension in the air.

“We need to report this back to Stoick.” Astrid’s voice was calm and even.  Only the tightness in her shoulders belied her anxiety. “Killing Dagur is too risky. If we fail or get spotted, the Berserker armada will be at Cowrie Beach by the end of the day. Does _anyone_ have a problem with my idea?”

“Tch, fine,” scowled Snotlout, crossing his arms and looking away from her ferocious glare. The others hastily murmured in agreement.

“I agree with you,” said Hiccup. “Astrid, you know I do.  But please, let me be the one to tell my dad. I just need to figure out the right way to tell him. I just need some time to clear my head, ok?”

“You’ve been clearing your head for months now,” said Astrid through gritted teeth.

The twins chorused their assent, Fishlegs mumbled in agreement and Snotlout added darkly, “So much that he’s got no brains left.”  

“Stay out of this!” Astrid barked at their friends.  She pointed below her where, underneath the slowly lightening sky, was the island of Berk.  Hiccup could pick out the tiny longhouses crowding the cliffsides, the statues of Vikings jutting menacingly out of the waters, even the low stone walls that replaced the driftwood fences to pen flocks of yak, elk and sheep. ”All of that can _burn_.”

“I know that!” Hiccup took a deep breath and began again. “Astrid, you’re right.  I’m the one responsible for this whole mess.  I was the one who thought of going after Alvin in the first place.  I didn’t end the fight; I made it worse.  I need some time to think of what I have to say to my dad and to the rest of Berk.  Please.”

Astrid sighed, “Ok.  But you need to tell him soon, ok?”

“I promise.”

Hiccup knew the village wouldn’t take the news of Dagur’s discovery of their dragons and his rescue well.  But still, he had a chance to explain to his father.  The village might not understand, but if he found the right words, then his father _might_. With the growing rift between him and his friends, Hiccup was suddenly desperate for someone to understand.  To that end, after he’d seen his friends to the village and made them swear not to tell anyone, Hiccup spent the remainder of the night at Cowrie Beach hastily cobbling together what he hoped would be a good explanation.

 

* * *

 

The sun shone bright directly overhead by the time Hiccup felt anywhere close to prepared.  He and Toothless were walking hurriedly through the village proper when a small child’s giggle distracted Hiccup from his thoughts.

The village of Berk had grown rapidly since their peace with dragons.  Newer buildings with colorful carvings crowded the available space in the village. Dragon ornaments and large roosts (an idea Fishlegs came up with so that dragons would have a place to land or nap on their riders’ home) perched precariously on slanted rooftops.  Defense towers also multiplied.  Although they were no longer used to ward off wild dragon attacks, the towers were fast becoming necessary against incoming raids.

A little girl peeked out from behind the pillar of a defense tower.  It was Brenna, one of the little girls who doted on Toothless.  The Night Fury watched her expectantly.  On cue, the girl shyly held out a large fish.  

“You flirt,” grinned Hiccup at his best friend. As soon as the girl held out her offering, Toothless went from solemn to wide, beseeching eyes and flattened ears.  The dragon slunk forward, all meekness, until a noise made the dragon halt.

“Stop that, Brenna,” said a boy, appearing beside Brenna.  “You’re supposed to be helping Gothi with the medicines.” He was ten years old with a prominent mole in his chin, but his long brown hair matched Brenna’s.  

“I just wanna give Toothless a treat,” whispered the nine-year-old girl.

“You’re just bothering them,” scolded the boy.

“It’s okay,” said Hiccup, kneeling so that he was at eye level with the children. “Toothless won’t hurt her.” He gestured for Brenna to come closer. “You’re a bit young to be an apprentice healer, Brenna.”

Brenna didn’t respond.  She was too mesmerized with holding out her fish to Toothless.  It was her older brother who answered, “She’s not an apprentice healer. Not yet anyway.  Gothi just needs as much help as she can get what with all the wounded coming back…”

Hiccup chewed his lip and nodded.  “It’s Crowtooth, right? You’re in the beginner’s class in Dragon Academy.”

“You... you remember me?” Crowtooth looked surprised and pleased though he tried hard not to show the latter. “But... you only taught the class once when Fishlegs was sick.”

“I remember all my students in Dragon Academy,” Hiccup smiled. He patted the Night Fury’s side.  “Plus, Toothless never forgets a face that gives him fish.”

The dragon in question finally took Brenna’s treat with rare delicacy.  The girl was overcome with giggles and ran away.

“Toothless says thank you!”

The Night Fury gobbled the fish greedily and licked its lips.  Toothless stared intently at Crowtooth.  Hiccup could almost hear the intensity in Toothless’s unspoken _More?_

The ten-year-old boy ignored the dragon and stared at Hiccup.  He was frowning, as if puzzled, and his arms were folded across his chest.  “Is it true you’re a milksop?”

“Sorry?” Hiccup asked, taken aback.  Toothless, hearing his surprise, paused in giving Crowtooth big eyes and stared back at Hiccup.  

“That’s what some of the older kids say,” said Crowtooth with all the frank honesty and shamelessness of the very young or the entitled old.

Hiccup’s mouth twisted in a wry, somewhat bitter grin. After a pause, he asked, “What do you think?”

Crowtooth considered the question very seriously.  “You’re the best teacher in Dragon Academy.  You make good toys.  You and Toothless make the best fireworks,” said Crowtooth finally. “You might be a milksop, but I don’t mind.”

“Thanks, Crowtooth,” Hiccup’s lips quirked. The village’s opinion of him might have sunk to an all-time low, but at least the kids stilled liked him. “That’s big of you. Listen, do you happen to know where my dad is?”

“Pa said the Chief would be at the Meade Hall,” said Crowtooth.  He started walking back the way his sister had run off to.  “Will you be at Dragon Academy later?”

“Maybe,” said Hiccup, waving him off.

Toothless crooned low and bumped his back.  Hiccup smiled fondly and patted his head.  Despite the treat, the dragon’s ears drooped and his eyes were half-lidded. “Go back home.  I’ll catch up and give you a good rubbing down.  How’s that sound?”  

Toothless crooned again, face close to Hiccup’s.

“I’ll be fine, Toothless.  It’s just time to face the music.” Toothless yawned, and began pacing back to Hiccup’s house.

 

* * *

 

After Brenna and Crowtooth, Hiccup didn’t see anyone else in the village until he reached the central square.  There, he spotted groups of boys, no more than fourteen or fifteen, drilling with blunt axes or playing bashyball.  Ever since the Outcast raids worsened, more and more youths joined Spitelout’s training program.  It was basically like Gobber’s old dragon training classes except this time, the kids were pitted against older warriors who had less mercy and/or sanity than dragons.

“Hiccup!” cried one boy, breaking away from the set.  Kofri was one of the rare young recruits who both trained in Dragon Academy and who also attended Spitelout’s classes. The lanky boy bounded up to Hiccup all eager smiles.  

“Hey, Kofri,” said Hiccup, smiling wanly.  Kofri reminded Hiccup of an overenthusiastic yipping puppy forever getting in the way.  His energy was only matched by his clumsiness and accidents followed in his wake.  Ruff had nicknamed him the _Hopefully hopeless._ Fortunately, his love of dragons pushed him to make twice the amount of effort.  And his admiration for a certain female dragon trainer.

“Have you seen Astrid?” Kofri pushed brown locks away from his sweaty forehead. He waved distractedly at his friends who boo-ed at his escape from their drill. “She promised she’d teach us the Piercing Lunge using a double-headed axe today.”

“I haven’t seen her since this morning.” He tried hard to ignore the lingering stares of Kofri’s friends and he tried even harder not to wonder which of them called him a milksop.

Kofri seemed to ignore his discomfort and followed the older boy companionably.  “She’s probably in the Meade Hall.  The chief must want her opinion on that big meeting.” Kofri nodded to himself as if in confirmation. “She’s attending more and more of the chief’s meetings, hasn’t she? She’s the youngest person to be included... well, except for you. But you’re the chief’s son and she earned her place by being the village’s best fighter.”

“Uh huh,” said Hiccup a little awkwardly as Kofri continued heaping praise on Astrid.  Hiccup’s admiration and respect for Astrid ran deep, but he didn’t fawn over her the way the younger boys did.  Hiccup couldn’t blame them.  Astrid flourished in adversity.  Every mission, every attack, every patrol, every rescue became a training ground to enhance deadly skill with axe and shield, an opportunity to exercise a keen mind quick to assess the battlefield, and an arena to push herself and Stormfly to even better teamwork.

Some people crumbled under pressure.  Astrid shone like a diamond.

Hiccup let Kofri’s jumble of words fade to the background as they walked.  It wasn’t until the Meade Hall loomed directly ahead that he finally paid attention to some of Kofri’s words.

“Some people, not me, of course, were just wondering what the situation is. Not that you’re bad or that the situation is bad, but, you know, you kind of keep it close to the furry vest and it’s hard to tell whether something is going on or what.”

“What’s going on?”

“What do you think of Astrid?” Kofri was uncharacteristically hesitant as he hefted his axe from one hand to the next.  He fumbled his axe and the edge would have nicked him if the blade had been sharpened.

_Is that a trick question?_ Hiccup wondered. His relationship with Astrid was private and his feelings even more so.  He and Astrid weren’t openly affectionate by nature unlike Ruff and her myriad of boyfriends or Snotlout who made a complete and utter ass of himself every time he chased a pretty girl.  A kiss here, holding hands there, that was the extent of what the village saw.  Astrid’s growing number admirers, not to mention the distance between them, only made Hiccup even more reserved.   _It’s a simple question, Haddock_ , he forced himself to focus.   _Just answer the question and let them draw their own conclusions._

“She...” he hesitated, trying to sum up Astrid and his feelings for her in as few words as possible. “She’s perfect.”

“Agreed,” nodded Kofri.  His axe tossing became a little more energetic as they reached the steps toward the Meade Hall. To his credit, he only fumbled it two more times.  “Did you know that the Meatheads call her the Valkyrie?”

“What’s this about?” Hiccup demanded.  It was unlike Kofri to dance around an issue and he didn’t have the time or patience to figure it out.  He had other, more important things to worry about.

“Some couples, you know, they just make sense,” Kofri winced and shrugged, “You can totally tell why they’re together. They have so much in common.  You and Astrid are kind of... different.”

“We attended the same dragon training class,” Hiccup pointed out, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.  “We’re both dragon trainers.  We’re both great riders.”

“And she’s such a great fighter on top of everything else!” Kofri exclaimed. At Hiccup’s raised brow, he added, “But they say opposites attract, right? And you’ve got a Night Fury! Best dragon out there.  You’re great too.”  

Hiccup’s glare had definitely improved since he first started dragon training.  As soon as Kofri caught sight of Hiccup’s face, he said hurriedly, “Eh, I’ll leave you to your thing.  ‘Cuz you have a thing, right? Say hi to Astrid for me!”

“Unbelievable,” Hiccup muttered as he climbed up the steps to the Meade Hall.  The giant braziers in front of the statues were not lit but the smaller ones by the doorway burned cheerfully in the daylight. He could already hear the rumble inside and Gobber’s yelling. He opened the door and stepped through.

“Hiccup!” came a shout and Hiccup was immediately lifted by strong arms into a chokehold.  Hiccup flailed, thinking for one wild moment that it was Dagur, but then realized that the person who grabbed him was Bucket.  “You’re alive! He’s alive, Mulch!”  The tall, blond fisherman gave an extra tight squeeze that chased the last remaining air from Hiccup’s lungs.

“Put him down,” scowled Mulch, his best friend and fellow fisherman. “You’re choking him.” Hiccup was abruptly let go and Hiccup stumbled as his feet hit the ground.  Mulch steadied him with his hook hand and patted him with his good left hand.  “You’re all right, boy.  But ya better go on ahead.  You’re father’s worried sick about you.”

“What?” asked Hiccup, head spinning. “Why wouldn’t I be alive? Why is my dad worried about me?” But their conversation was interrupted by the shouts coming from inside the hall.  In his impromptu embrace by Bucket, Hiccup hadn’t even realized what was taking place.

The Meade Hall was constructed to house the entire population of Berk in times of bad weather (which happened far too often) or attack (which was happening more frequently than anyone liked).  It was a vast space with towering pillars that soared to the stone ceiling overhead. The rough walls were covered in enormous tapestries depicting famous Viking heroes, ancestors and gods. At the far end was a large, circular fire pit big enough to comfortably fit three Monstrous Nightmares.  Surrounding the pit was a circular table that, in times of great feasts, seated the village chief and those closest to him.  It was at this spot that Stoick often held meetings or heard villagers’ complaints. The central space of the Meade Hall was kept clear but to the side and near the fire pit, tables and braziers were scattered.

It looked like half the village was crowded inside the Meade Hall.  They gathered round the fire pit where Hiccup spotted Stoick, and spilled into the main floor.  Clusters gathered here and there amongst tables and pillars talking rapidly to each other.  Hiccup spotted the fishermen nearest the outer doors.  His uncle Spitelout, Phlegma the Fierce, and their oldest recruits were near the fire pit.  The only villager seated was Gothi the Elder.  Her small hunched frame rested on a chair by a pillar. Stoick the Vast was in a deep conversation with Gobber but he looked up when he heard the commotion. “Hiccup!” he shouted.  Even from this distance, Hiccup could hear the pure relief breaking through his dad’s voice.  “Thank the gods, you’re okay!”

At sixteen years of age, Hiccup was almost a man grown amongst his people.  Still, he couldn’t help the comfort and relief he felt at the sight of his father.  “Hey, Dad,” Hiccup said, smiling wearily.

Stoick’s response was drowned out by shouts from the other villagers, “Where have you been?”

“Have the Berserkers arrived?”

“Did you see the armada?”

Hiccup’s heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach and his mouth went dry.  “Wha-” he began but he couldn’t hear himself over the din.  Stoick raised his hand to silence the villagers and beckoned Hiccup to come forward.  His heart raced as he made his way up the long hall and to the great fire pit.  Along the way, he spotted his friends.  Fishlegs was twisting his hands together in worry. The twins stood near the brazier, for once looking impassive. Snotlout was drumming his fingers impatiently on the handle of his long axe.  He raised his brows at Hiccup as if to hurry him along.  Finally, he spotted Astrid close to Gothi.  She looked anxious, frustrated, but most of all relieved.  She smiled at Hiccup as he passed and he returned it.  Maybe things would be all right with them, after all.  He just needed to get through this.

Stoick assessed him as he finally made his way to the table.  The chief of the Hooligans was haloed by the meager sunlight filtering in through the high windows, casting his features in shadows.  He looked intimidating, the light blurring the familiar features of his father’s face while highlighting the size and height of a Viking chief in his prime. This was the warrior who killed dragons twice his size and three times his speed with only his war hammer and sheer iron resolve. Anxiety wound its way through Hiccup’s throat and he felt like a little boy again who managed to let all the dragons loose and carry off the food supplies for the winter in one go.  He paused.  There was a touch at his elbow and he looked to see Astrid step up to the table next to him.  Her face was calm and impassive.  It was the expression she wore during important community meetings or war councils when she was trying to seem more grown up than she actually was, she’d once confided in him in a very rare moment of vulnerability.  Hiccup squared his shoulders and turned to face his father.

Stoick’s hands twitched at his side and Hiccup realized that the chief was restraining himself from giving Hiccup a hug.  Just like that, Hiccup felt like he had his father back again.  Then Stoick straightened his posture and the next words out of the village chief’s mouth knocked the breath out of Hiccup.

“Astrid told us about the Berserkers,” Stoick said gravely. “We need to know exactly what happened.”

“You told them?” Hiccup asked, turning to Astrid.  Shock and hurt warred inside him and he wasn’t sure which showed the most on his face.

Astrid stepped back, expression closing.  “Hiccup,” she said in a low voice. “I-“

“We should have found out from you! Where have you been?” asked Phlegma, brows creased. Other villagers repeated the question, in varying degrees of fear and anger.  Hiccup was taken aback.  The room was thick with tension.  He had seen the village face down hordes of dragon attacks before but this… This was something different.  He had never seen them like this before. Beside his father, he could see Gobber shouting at the others to calm down but they wouldn’t listen.  It took his father raising his voice before everyone quieted again.

“All right, everyone needs to calm down,” Stoick said, “We need to hear Hiccup’s side of the story.  Hiccup, what happened on that island?”

Hiccup swallowed.  The words he had composed in the night, words he had strung together so carefully, seemed especially flimsy now underneath Stoick’s worried stare and the weight of the villagers’ fears.  He explained briefly Alvin’s treachery, Dagur’s discovery of Berk’s dragons and finally, his rescue of Dagur from the ocean and return to the Berserker warship.  At this point, he faltered, feeling more than hearing the growing rumble of discontent from his audience.  

“Listen, “ he pleaded, already feeling their attention slip away.  “I understand how everyone is feeling right now. ” His voice sounded small in the cavernous space of the Meade Hall. Firelight flickered ominously on the hostile faces of the villagers staring at him.  He tried to focus on his father.  “Believe me, I know.  My mission, this last mission, was to find Alvin, bring him back to Berk and use him to end this fight with the Outcasts.  But killing Dagur wouldn’t have stopped the fighting. Killing Dagur was not the right choice.”

Someone, he wasn’t sure who, but he thought sounded like Snotlout, muttered, “Yeah, it was. We’re Vikings.”

Hiccup glared in the direction of the voice, “Do we have to kill everyone that could be a threat to us just because we’re Vikings?”

Phlegma the Fierce scoffed impatiently, “Yes! Boy, you don’t know what you’ve dragged us into.  You’ve brought a war upon us when we need to gather food for the oncoming frost.”

Spitelout added, “We’re spread thin fighting off the Outcasts and gathering food. We don’t have enough men or dragons for a war with 50,000 Berserkers.  Do you really want them coming to our doorstep when we’re out of food, out of men and out of weapons?”

“Who says they’re going to be a war?” Hiccup asked in frustration, “We can make peace with the Berserkers. We—we can talk to them!”

Everybody looked at him incredulously in silence.  This made Snotlout’s following comment reverberate all the more loudly, “Well, we’ve heard his side and it’s _dumb_.”

Muttering followed fast and thick from the other villagers.

“What a _child_.”

“He didn’t have the guts to kill a dragon.  Guess it was too much to hope he’d kill a man too.”

“Why do we keep letting him drag us into these situations? First, dragons, then Outcasts and now Berserkers?”

“This is ridiculous.  We could have had Dagur’s head by now.  War would have been over before it started.”

“Dagur is on his way here to kill us all.”

Hiccup tried to respond, but no matter how loudly he spoke, no one paid attention.  The shouting and reprimands came from all sides and Hiccup felt like he was suffocating in it.  He clenched his jaw and tried not to listen.  Instead, he focused on the great stone frieze behind his father.  It was a familiar carving of the legendary Viking king Grimbeard the Ghastly and his three sons Thugheart, Grimbrow and Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II. Underneath the stone frieze, Stoick’s war hammer, the only weapon in the village not kept in the armory or in a warrior’s house, was featured prominently.   As a child, he dreamt that he would one day wield that hammer.  Nowadays, he avoided it.  Even Toothless didn’t want to be near the weapon, although that might be because it had crushed countless dragon skulls.

“QUIET DOWN,” Stoick bellowed.  He never looked more imposing to Hiccup than he did right then, standing broad shouldered and implacable despite the mounting fear sweeping his whole tribe. It was almost as if the hostility and the roiling hysteria rolled off him and instead only drew out an unshakeable surety. “We don’t know that Dagur will wake up and go to war with us.”  

People began muttering again but they quieted as soon as his cold gaze fell on them.  He began pacing the room, drawing all eyes to him.  For a moment, Hiccup allowed himself to hope.  Then Stoick reached for his war hammer and Hiccup knew his father hadn’t heard him either.  

“But we will prepare for war nonetheless!  If Dagur wants a fight, we’ll teach him that even his armada will count for nothing in testing our seas, our lands, our dragons! Have you forgotten?” Stoick stabbed the war hammer in the direction of the carving of Grimbeard.  “The Berserker Tribe like to keep repeating that they descended from Grimbeard’s son Thugheart.  But, we’re also descendants of Grimbeard the Ghastly, every bit the equal of the Berserker tribe, by blood through Hiccup Horrendous Haddock II! And if Dagur or Alvin shows either of their faces here, I’ll teach them personally that they should have been more afraid of us than of our dragons.” He ended his statement with a decisive swing of his war hammer that shattered the face of the carving of Thugheart.

The cheers of the villagers reached the ceiling of the Meade Hall.  Most were clapping or shouting their support of Stoick.  Hiccup was one of the few who did not.  He almost felt like he was watching the scene from a stranger’s perspective.

Stoick turned to Spitelout to consult him about his warriors, but it was Snotlout who volunteered the information.  Stoick nodded and said, “Good.  I know they’re already working hard, but I want them in the best possible shape.  The Outcasts are tricky bastards, but the Berserkers are hard and fast and we need to hit them harder and faster. Astrid.”  Astrid straightened and met his gaze calmly.  “You’re our best fighter on a dragon.  I want you to take Snotlout and whoever else you need and train the new dragon riders.”

Astrid’s gaze flicked to Hiccup and held it for a long moment.  Hiccup barely held back a blanch.  Astrid turned back to Stoick and responded firmly, “Yes, I’m prepared.  I know what to do.” Hiccup’s breath escaped him in a rush and his eyes fell to the ground.  The rest of the meeting faded away.  There was a roaring in his ears and he felt off-balance, almost as if he was in freefall.  But it wasn’t the freefall from the back of a dragon.  It was the ground crumbling underneath his feet.

He vaguely registered that Spitelout and Phlegma were given the orders to begin teaching weapons to the youngest trainees.  The older students were to start dragon training immediately.  Meanwhile, Astrid was to have competent dragon riders patrol the waters around Berk, particularly around their fisheries so that at least they would be stocked with seafood.  If they sighted either Outcast or Berserker ships approaching, Stoick ordered with a dark look on his face, Astrid was to have the ships blown out of the water.  No survivors.  

The real problem, Gobber pointed out, was the lack of poultry, grain and iron ore to fashion into weapons.  A combination of sickness and raids from the Outcasts had thinned their herds and the island yielded very little grain to begin with.  Now that most villagers were preparing for war, there was simply no one who had the time to mine for raw iron or till the earth.

“We’ll just have to do a little raiding of our own,” said Stoick firmly.

“Or,” Gobber said, shooting a concerned look in Hiccup’s direction, “we could start trading.”

Stoick snorted, “With who, Gobber?  In case you didn’t notice, the Berserkers are the ones who we trade with for most of our grain and iron and they’re the ones we’re fighting. None of the other tribes, even the Meatheads, will want to be allied with us once they find out the Berserkers are on the warpath.”

Gobber rolled his eyes, “What about the Highlanders?”  He scoffed at some of the villagers’ gasps. “What? You act like we’ve never traded with them before.  When Valhallarama was still alive, we’d—“

Even the mention of Hiccup’s mother wasn’t enough to make him look up.  What did get a reaction was the feel of warm, familiar fingers sliding between his own. Without thinking, he jerked back and stepped away. He stared coldly at Astrid standing in front of him.  Surprise rippled across her features.  He had never pulled away from her before, Hiccup realized dimly, and he could see the realization on Astrid’s face too.  Her lips curled before her expression settled into an eerie calm once again.

“Hiccup,” she said softly.  “We need to talk.”

“I don’t see what for,” Hiccup responded.  “Aren’t you busy planning your little war?”

“Hiccup, please,” Astrid said. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

The sun shone brightly outside. It was a stark contrast to the dark, humid atmosphere inside the Meade Hall.  Here, everything was calm and still.  A shout erupted from the depths of the Meade Hall and Hiccup glanced back.  Astrid shut the great door behind her.

Hiccup continued ignoring her. He folded his arms and stared out at the village spread below him. He and Toothless had helped out with the construction of many of these new buildings.  Many of them, in fact, could not have been made without the help of Hiccup and the dragons.  It wasn’t so long ago that he was everyone’s favorite; everyone wanted to see him or talk to him.  Now…

        “You don’t want to be in there right now.  No one will listen to you.”

        “Like you didn’t listen when I told you to wait?”  The words came spilling out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think.

        He heard her sharp intake of breath as his barb struck home. He half expected her to punch him. Then there was a beat and then she sighed.  He hated that.  He hated that she was so calm when he felt like such a scattered mess.

        “That’s not fair, Hiccup. I waited six hours for you to tell your dad.  I didn’t know where you were.  I was worried about you; I was worried about Berk.”

        “But you should have trusted me!” he turned to her. “I told you I was gonna do it. I came back ready to do it.  Instead, you fed me to a nest of hungry Terrors!”

        Astrid shook her head, blonde hair falling across her light blue eyes, “How am I supposed to trust you when you don’t talk to me? When you never tell me what’s going on?  You ask me to trust that you’ll eventually come up with a solution, but we can’t wait anymore.  Sometimes you just have to act.”

        But Hiccup couldn’t even focus on her words.  He had kept his cool in front of the village but now that that they were outside, the emotion and the energy came bubbling out.  “They’re—they’re up in arms, Astrid!” he gestured to the Meade Hall.  “For the first time since my father’s father last set sail—a real war!  Are you happy now?”

        Astrid folded her arms, mouth set, “What did you expect Vikings to do when they’re being attacked?

        Hiccup snapped, “We’re not being attacked.”

        “We don’t know that. We don’t know whether we’ll be attacked today, tomorrow, or if they’ll never come because _you_ decided to gamble _our_ lives on the chance that Dagur will either die in his sleep or forget that we have dragons. And your plan of walking up to the Berserkers and asking them not to go to war with us will only end in a massacre. I can’t support that.”

        “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t agree with me!  You should have had my back!"

        “Your _back_ is all I’ve seen these past months!  We used to have fun; we used to tell each other anything.” Astrid’s cheeks flushed red in her fury.  Her fingers curled into fists. “Now you’re always walking away from me to clear your head.”

        “I know that being a killing machine is in but you know what? It takes me longer to deal with my _conscience_.”

        “You shouldn’t have to think about it so much, Hiccup.” Her eyes fell to the ground. Her words were soft now, “Not _everything_ has to be this hard. You shouldn’t need to overthink it. Some things should be simple.”

“Killing isn’t the solution to everything.”

“That is _not_ what this is about!” Astrid’s shout caused Hiccup to take a step back in surprise.  After a moment’s pause, her breath left her in a soft hiss, “I can’t have this conversation with you right now.”  She turned and opened the door to the Meade Hall.

“No, let’s talk now.” Hiccup’s voice was quiet and hard.  “You didn’t want me to think. Fine. You don’t get to run away either.”

“I’m a shieldmaiden, Hiccup.” Astrid’s back was still turned to him. Her voice had taken an odd quality—soft but restrained.

“How can I forget?” All the bitterness, resentment, weariness and frustration from everything—from the failed mission, from Dagur’s rescue, from his friends’ disappointment in him, from the Crowtooth’s frank “milksop”, from Kofri’s implication that he wasn’t good enough for her, and finally ending in the village’s declaration of war—made his words as bitingly sharp as dragon’s teeth. “You’re the heroine of the village—a Valkyrie in mortal flesh.”

“Stop it!” she whirled to face him.  Her fists were clenched against her side. “I’m sick of you treating me like I do something wrong every time I come back from a battle.  You are gonna have to accept that this is who we are and this is what we do.  Remember the Hooligan motto? _Out of the flames, we conquer._ ”

“We used to kill dragons, but now we’re riding them.  Why can’t this be different too?”

“We kill to survive. We kill to protect! That has never changed about us.  I can’t believe that you’re even making me feel bad about this.  You, of all people! Have I ever made you feel bad about doing something you love? Something that you’re really good at, that you know, in your heart, you’re born to do?”

Hiccup flinched as if he’d been struck.  “Of course, I support you! I am proud of you! I’ve always loved that you were so sure about yourself.” Then his face crumpled, “But, Astrid, I’m not like that. I’m not the golden boy everyone needs the chief’s son to be.  Sure, I trained dragons but somehow I screwed that up too. The Outcast raids are my fault, along with everything else. I’m Hiccup the Useless and you’ve always been out of my league.”

Astrid slapped him.  Hiccup had been hit before, usually in practice or fights, but never with such force and precision. He staggered back, as much surprised from the blow as from the sharp pain in his cheek.  

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” She was breathing hard and her cheeks were flushed.

“Astrid...”

“No, shut up, Hiccup. I am not out of your league,” she glared at him. Then Astrid’s expression softened and her shoulders sagged. She whispered, “I really liked being with you.”

“Liked?” Hiccup whispered back with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“But you’re not what I need,” Astrid shook her head fiercely.  “I’m not what you need either.”

He looked away from her and let out a heavy breath.  There was a heavy, pregnant pause between them.  Then Astrid took a deep, steadying breath.  Her voice, when it came, was the same firm and no-nonsense that he’d listened to countless times over the years for problems great and small, for troubles that had no answers.  All the same except for the slightest tremor.  If he didn’t know Astrid, he wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Believe it or not, you are one of us.” She stepped close to him but Hiccup could hardly lift his head to acknowledge her. Her hands clasped his, gentle and firm. “Just because you haven’t killed anyone yet doesn’t mean you’re less of a Viking.”

Hiccup shook his head. Astrid let go and punched him in the shoulder.  At the familiar pain in his side, he made a halfhearted attempt to bat her fist away. Astrid drew away then and stared him up and down.  “What are you looking at?”

“I see a strong leader.  I see a true Viking—the greatest hero we’ll ever know.  I see my best friend.  I hope one day you’ll see that too.”  With a final smile and a gentle touch on his shoulder, Astrid left him.  

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have mentioned this before, but CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other, but hopefully the payoff will be worth the wait :)
> 
> Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on my account nessalk in tumblr. If you want to see more, come check it out!


	4. A Worthy Dance Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of wisps and Romans and the fate of princesses

           Merida’s sword whistled as it swung to her opponent.  The wooden blade made contact with a satisfying crack.  She stabbed again and again, relishing in the fierce burn in her limbs.  After a few minutes, she spun low, tried to come up underneath the guard of her opponent—and fell in an ungraceful heap in the practice courtyard.  Merida groaned, sitting up, “This cursed dress…!”  The beautiful gown was now sweat-stained and soiled from her tumble.  Merida had loved the gown when her mother had given it to her for her birthday.  It was a rich green gown with loose sleeves embroidered in silver. Best of all, it wasn’t too tight.  Merida could move in it unlike the blue prison she wore for her betrothal feast last year.  But now, Merida realized that while she could dance, eat, and walk in this dress, running and fighting were out of the question.

           Merida glared up at the practice dummy.  It was just as well that there was no one in the courtyard.  Her birthday feast was still in full swing though it had already been an hour since Niall’s ballad and her subsequent escape.  Though the walls of the castle were thick, Merida could hear music, laughter and the occasional line of Niall’s new ballad streaming from the great hall.  Embarrassment still paralyzed Merida. The princess had been unable to face any of her guests and she’d been frustrated that she couldn’t.  Her birthday feast was supposed to be the time she showed the lords how much she matured.  Yet here she was—playing in the dirt like she was ten years old again.

           The princess stood and batted at the dust on her gown.  “It’s all right,” she muttered, trying to convince herself, “No one’s been turned into a bear.  No one’s declaring war. You’re doing just _fine_.” The dirt clung stubbornly to her skirt no matter how hard Merida hit it.  She continued brushing it off, growing angrier every minute.  “Just… get… off!” she hissed.

           The sudden bright blue glow of a wisp arrested her movement.  Merida stayed very still as the ghostly flame flickered in and out, its unearthly light bright in the gloom of the night.  After a few moments, she held out her palm and the wisp descended to her hand.  The princess chuckled.

           “Finally come to visit me in the castle, have you?”

           The form rippled in her hand.  It was a movement she had grown very familiar with in the year past.  

           “You know I can’t come out with you tonight.” Merida fought to keep a stern expression, though she couldn’t help the longing in her voice.  Tonight would have been a perfect night to follow the wisps and see what new ruin or peak they lead her to.

           Wisps had begun appearing in increasing numbers to Merida ever since the incident with the Mor’du.  At first, it had startled the princess (and Angus), but the wisps almost always disappeared when she came closer.  But with each ride through the glen or swim in the river, the wisps had grown friendlier and bolder until finally they started showing Merida secret paths, hidden pools and even ruined castles.  Merida had come to view them less as harbingers of fate and more as curious, helpful and always unpredictable creatures.  She could never tell what they would show her and they always disappeared when someone else was with her.

           The wisp flickered and its eerie, almost imperceptible whispers rose like an ominous wind.  It made Merida wary.  The wisps usually didn’t insist without good reason.

           “My mum will _kill_ me if I abandon my own—”

           The clop clop of hooves striking cobblestone caused the princess to look up in the gloom.  The wisp disappeared instantly.  She’d been so concentrated on the wisp that she hadn’t even noticed her surroundings.  The first thing that arrested her attention was the horse.  It was a beautiful animal, just a shade shorter than Angus, with fine bones and long elegant legs.  Though it lacked Angus’s girth, something in the way the animal carried itself let Merida know it wasn’t a dainty palfry; it moved with the confidence that only the fastest, fiercest horses in a herd possessed.  Its calm, dark eyes flicked to her curiously then rolled back to the man in front of it.  Merida was surprised to see that it was Andres and even more surprised to find that he wasn’t leading the horse by bridle.  The animal was following the Roman all on his own.

           Merida stood up, unconsciously gripping her wooden sword tight in one hand.  “What are you doing here?” she asked.  Merida wasn’t sure if her tone was devoid of scorn, but she’d been caught off guard.  She’d been so overcome by her own frustration that she’d completely forgotten about the Romans.

           It had been many months since Merida had seen the Roman General stationed beyond Antonine’s Wall. The Romans had been one of the Highlands’ enemies in times past.  Still was, if you asked any of the lords, but that was more bluster than anything else. The last great Roman incursion happened in Fergus’s youth when he could barely swing a sword straight.  The clans had been crippled by their petty feuds and rivalries, but they had the advantage of knowing their terrain well and the foolishness of a legate who liked to wear a distinctive golden helmet that made him a particularly irresistible target.  A general soon came to replace the legate who lost his helmet and his head (courtesy of the then-young Lord Dingwall).  But it was the warriors from Clan DunBroch that the newly replenished Roman forces first faced.  Everyone expected a bloody battle, but instead Titus proposed a truce with the Highland clans beginning with Clan DunBroch.  When Fergus’s father asked about the Empire, Titus had famously said, “Damn the Emperor.  I serve Rome. As I see it, there’s more in common between two enemies on the battlefield than they have with their emperors and their lords.  We’ll keep to our sides and that’ll be the end of it.”  And so it was.  Even when the Viking hordes swept through the Highlands and nearly devoured all the clans, Rome stayed south of Antonine’s Wall.

           Nearly 15 years had passed since the unification of the Highlands and in that time, the king and queen slowly came to develop a tentative relationship with their neighbor to the south.  The years had turned Titus’s hair snow white and harsh winters carved deep lines around his face, but his dark eyes were always alert and watchful. By the gracious invitation of the king and queen, he and a small retinue had even come to visit a few times in the past for important celebrations or social events.  Merida liked the grizzled general, though she knew many of the lords did not.  Maudie often said that Romans were treacherous, manipulative and condescending but Merida had never seen these qualities in Titus.  He was practical and blunt to the point of rudeness, but Titus was true to his word.  Elinor called him the honorable eagle—the only outlander worth treating with.  Nowadays, the only Romans to be found in the Highlands were the few messengers Titus trusted to carry his even fewer missives to the king.

           Until now.

           Andres stopped to stare at her.  His eyes swept her up and down, from the dirt in her skirt, to the sword in her hand to the fierce expression on her face.  Merida’s face heated but otherwise she was proud that she didn’t flinch.  The Roman shrugged and pointed to his horse.  Merida’s brow furrowed and unwillingly, she stepped close.  She didn’t like the Roman, but the animal was a thing of beauty.

           At her approach, both man and beast stilled, watching her warily.  Merida held up her hand cautiously.  She kept her eye on the animal; it huffed but otherwise remained still.  She approached it slowly, like she would a wild animal, and gently lifted a hand.  The horse lifted its muzzle and sniffed her hand curiously.  It rolled its eyes to Andres who remained motionless, watching Merida.  But Merida was only paying attention to the horse.  She hummed to the animal a low song she knew Angus liked to hear.  The horse pricked its ears and huffed before butting its head against Merida’s hand.  Delighted, the princess stroked the animal’s face, fingers sliding against a glossy coat.

           “You are a beauty, aren’t you?” she crooned.  “Where did you come from? Och, if only I had something to give you.” As if understanding her words, the animal sniffed her curiously all over, exactly the way Angus did when he was wondering if she had any hidden treats.  Merida laughed.  “Oh, I wish I could ride you.”

           Andres released a breath Merida hadn’t even realized he was holding.  The sound drew her attention and she blinked up at the Roman who was watching the girl and beast.  They were closer now than they had been at the feast, with only the horse between them.  Despite the gloom, or maybe even because of it, she allowed herself to trace his features—dark, serious brows slightly curved in surprise, the sharp cheekbones and jaw, the lips slightly parted. It made Merida proud that she’d been able to confound him.  He probably thought she was a delicate thing who was scared of horses.  “I’ve never seen a horse like him before.  Where did you find him?”

           Andres shrugged.

           Merida rolled her eyes.  “We’ll get along much faster if you stopped pretending to be dumb.”

           His response, when it came, was slow and measured,  “I understand your tongue, but speak it ill.”

           “Mhmm.” Starfall bumped into her middle again. She stumbled but regained her balance quickly.  “Why were you walking him?”

           There was a moment’s pause then Andres said, “Your stablemaster was drunk and his boys were worse at their cups.  I had my man take care of our horses, but Starfall needs a steadier hand.”

           “So you take care of your own horse?” Merida was impressed despite herself.

           “Starfall is the fastest and cleverest horse I’ve ever ridden.” There was no sense of arrogance in his voice; he said it in the way a man might say that the sky was blue.  “He’s been my constant companion.  I—“ Andres shook his head before placing a hand on Starfall’s muzzle as well, just above Merida’s own hand.  “I like taking care of him.”

           In spite of how he’d acted earlier in the evening, Merida smiled at that.  “I take care of my horse too. Angus has been with me since I was very young.  We grew up together.”

           “Did you always know I spoke your language?”

           Merida smiled curved into a smirk,  “Only after you gave General Titus’s present and I spoke to you.”

           Instead of being insulted, Andres nodded like he acknowledged the hit,  “Well spotted.”  His lips curved into the faintest grin as he turned his attention to Starfall who butted against him.  It was odd.  Here, in the darkness, with a stranger not only to her but to her land and people, she finally felt like she was being seen—not as a princess, but as Merida.

           The princess didn’t understand why, but she liked seeing him smile.  It made him seem less strange and intimidating and more like someone she could like.  “I bet Angus and I are faster than you and Starfall,” Merida said boldly then blinked.  Did she actually say that? Was she actually considering spending time with a Roman?

           He gave her a long, considering look, face close to Starfall’s muzzle. “You’ll find I excel at games, Princess,” he said, “I play to win.”

           “I’ve never liked losing either.”

           Andres’s eyes snapped to her face, surprise and something strange, some emotion Merida couldn’t name, in his eyes.  His breath left him in a huff, “Children don’t like losing.”  He started walking again and Starfall followed obediently.

           Merida blinked at his abrupt change in attitude and pursed her lips.  “Scared to find out who’s the better rider then?”

           “Starfall is a warhorse,” Andres called back, still turned away, “not a child’s plaything.”

           A burst of anger sparked inside Merida, a reaction more intense than she’d expected his words to incite.  “Angus is not a plaything and I am not a child!”

           “You act like one,” he said.  “All bluster and fire; no control, no foresight. Just like your _sword-fighting._ ”  He said the last word with just the smallest amount of emphasis that implied a depth of derision.

           “I challenge you to say that to my face!”

           “I believe I just did.”

           “Not with words, you _coward_. With a sword.”

           “That would be inappropriate,” said Andres, pausing in his walk to bow to her.  “Princesses are delicate.”  The Queen herself could not have achieved a more tranquil face and tone than his even as his words hit Merida’s pride like darts.

           Merida tossed up an extra wooden sword laying on the ground with her foot and threw it at him.  He caught it only inches from his face.   Starfall whickered softly.  “What was all that about delicate?” Merida asked, easing into a offensive posture.

           The Roman eyed her for a beat then turned away. Merida thought he was going to ride off in high dudgeon, but the Roman simply undid his cloak and put it on his horse.  When he turned to face her, there was a subtle shift in his movements—like a predator beginning to circle his prey.  Merida felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.  He was not a very tall man, like her father Fergus, but his physique and his movement suggested tightly wound energy like a snake about to strike. The Roman eased into her little practice arena and tested the wooden blade with a few swings. “Perhaps not so delicate, after all.” His lips quirked showing a flash of white, even teeth.  “The lords will want you fit for birthing strong young boys to succeed them.”

           Merida attacked with a shout.  He blocked her every swing, eyes calm.  For a few minutes, the only sound was that of their wooden blades clashing.  Merida had never faced an opponent like him.  In a world where stronger, bulky men dwarfed Merida, she often used her size and speed to great advantage.  But the Roman was equally fast, she realized, perhaps even more so.  He moved well and was quick to realize patterns or feints.  He made Merida work for every blow.  Despite herself, Merida found herself beginning to smile.  He was a rare and worthy opponent.

           “Your footwork is excellent,” Andres said as he circled her.

           She maintained the distance between them, a small smile on her lips as she matched him stance for stance. “I could say the same.”

           “But you should be looking at my face and not my sword,” said the Roman before lunging forward.  Merida parried the blow with some effort.  Her wrist and arm ached.

           “I don’t care for your face,” Merida panted. “It’s the sword I’m worried about.”

           “You worry about the wrong thing.” His voice, deep and even, drifted like smoke over the arena.  It wasn’t an overtly powerful voice but it thrummed in the air for all the lack of volume. “Faces tell you so many things. For example, your eyes narrow before you strike.”  He parried Merida’s thrust then swung his sword in a savage horizontal cut that Merida had to duck followed by a horizontal cut aimed at her legs.  Merida jumped to avoid the last cut.

           Reluctantly, Merida raised her eyes to meet his.  He held her gaze.  His eyes were the color of smoke—dark, gray, and unfathomable. She could read no secrets in them.  But his face was familiar.  She was positive she’d never met him before but something in the way he carried himself, in the outline of his face, reminded her of somebody.  A thought tickled the back of her mind but it disappeared when Andres left an opening.  Her blow landed.

           “Looks like I got you to dance with me after all,” she grinned.

           “You may regret having me as a dance partner.”

           “Oh, Roman, you couldn’t keep up with me if you tried.”

           “It’s a pity.” Andres took a few steps back and reassessing her.  Something in his expression, something darker seeping into his features.

           Merida felt a warning toll in the back of her mind, but she ignored it in favor of her rising ire.  “That you’re about to get knocked off your feet by a delicate princess?” asked Merida, pressing her attack. “Aye, it is.  Truth hurts, doesn’t it? I promise I won’t tell General Titus, though.”

           “I thank you for the courtesy,” Andres laughed as he stepped neatly aside to dodge her blow. “Do you think you will be allowed to continue once you marry one of your… fine… lords?”

           “You think I’m going to stop so that I won’t offend a man’s ego?  The way I’m offending yours right now?” Merida asked, attacking with a brutal forward thrust.  He turned her aside easily and spun to face her.  Merida was almost knocked off balance, but he didn’t attack.  Instead, he watched her ready herself with a strange expression in his eyes.  He wasn’t amused anymore.

           “My wife was a little like you.” Merida could not tell what the expression was in his eyes.  “She was the finest hand I’ve ever seen handle a blade.”

           “You?” Merida’s sword wavered. She hadn’t thought he was married.  “Married a lady who could fight so well?”

           “Yes,” he replied, sliding into an offensive posture she had never seen before, “but I quickly realized she was more warrior than wife.”

           “What does that mean?”

           He responded dryly, “She used her sword in every fight.  But different situations require different weapons.”  He lunged forward so fast; Merida narrowly avoided missing it.  The wooden blade whistled inches from her cheek.

           Merida grunted as she knocked his blade away from her, “So what happened to her?”

           “She died.” He lunged forward again and this time the blow hit her shoulder.  For a moment, the pain was so intense it knocked the breath out of her and she stumbled backwards.

           Merida said through gritted teeth, “I rather liked your wife.”  Her shoulder was throbbing from the blow.  She hadn’t been hit that hard since… she couldn’t even remember.  She felt her grip on her sword weakening, and she tightened her fingers.  She swung a blow and he blocked her, their swords locked.  Merida realized her mistake right away.  She knew better than to engage in a test of strength with a man; those had never ended well for her.

           “Do you really think that any self-respecting lord would let his wife run around like a boy with a wooden sword pretending she’s a warrior?” he asked, staring down at her.  Damn him, he wasn’t even panting for breath.  “A lady’s duty is to serve her lord and tend to his heirs.”

           “I should think that any lord I marry would not dare tell me what I can or can’t do,” Merida spat.  He shoved her but Merida was expecting that.  She slid against his blow and used it to circle around him.

           “Spoken like a queen. But you’re not a queen, are you?”  He began a series of quick jabs that forced Merida back step by step.  Soon, she was backed against the crumbling castle wall.   Her bruised shoulder felt weak and watery but still she lifted her sword.  Before she could complete the motion, the Roman grabbed her right wrist and slammed it hard against the wall.  Merida cried out in pain and her sword clattered to the ground. “You’re just going to be a lady.”

           Merida did the only thing she could think of.  She swung her left fist at his face.  The Roman let go of her just in time. Merida darted for her sword, but the Roman’s blade stabbed deeply into the crumbling castle wall and arrested her dive.  She spun for the opposite direction, but his hand struck the wall and pinned her in.  Trapped, she glared at him and he surged in so close she felt his breath against her ear.  “You can fight, you can scream, you can avoid the lords all you want, but all you are, all you’ll ever be, is the wife of some dimwit who thinks himself important,” he said, voice low and penetrating.  “Beneath all the declarations of love and courtship, all you are is a way to the crown and a way to get an heir.”

           Merida felt the pounding in her heart, blood surging through her veins, galloping, whispering a hundred different things she couldn’t understand.  She felt shock at his rough handling—his dominance—knew she’d never been treated this way by anyone; she felt a hopeless, helpless fury at his words whiting out every logical thought process in her brain until all she wanted was to hurt him, smash his face against a rock, claw his eyes out; and she felt heat coiling low in her belly, a sensation she’d never felt before and somehow, in her heart, Merida knew things would never be the same again.

           When Andres withdrew, he did so slowly.  The dark curls slowly pulled back, then the long line of his jaw and then his lips were in her line of sight.  An instinct pulsed in Merida that made her draw a breath and when she looked up, he saw his eyes register her reaction.  He paused, long enough for Merida to shove him if she wanted, but she didn’t.  She remained frozen in place.

           “You’re just a child,” he said, lips quirking. The Roman backed away from her. He retrieved her sword and presented it to her with a bow, “I don’t think I’ve said it yet but… Happy birthday, Princess.”

           It was as if the sword snapped her out of a spell.  The princess snatched up the weapon, cheeks flaming.  “How dare you?” she hissed.  “You’re just a messenger; you know nothing!” Only the smallest thread of self-control restrained her from striking him right now.  “You may have beat me with a practice sword, but I dare you to stay that to my face when I have my bow and arrows.  I’ve fought against the demon bear Mor’du and my father in combat.  I’m not afraid of you!”

           The Roman backed up a few more steps to avoid the wild swinging of her sword.  His face showed a trace of amusement though his hands were once again held up in surrender. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?” he asked, throwing her words back in her face.

           “Listen, you pompous jackanape,” she pointed the sword straight at his face.  “I’ve won the right to marry whomever I wish.  My fate is in my own hands. Mine! Not with any of the clan lords!”

           Surprise rippled through his features followed by a look of intense speculation.  His mouth opened but they were interrupted by a familiar voice.

           “Merida!” The Queen was hurrying towards them. She looked anxious and Merida cursed.  She knew what her mother was seeing now—the princess in a dirty gown accosting a messenger from an esteemed guest.  “And—Lord Andres!  I apologize. I didn’t realize…”

           The Roman bowed to Elinor and said in their own tongue, “I was just giving the princess my personal greetings.”

           If Elinor was surprised by Andres’s fluency in their own language, it didn’t show in her face.  “Of course,” the Queen said, face serene.  “We thank you for your warm regard.”  Though her expression was placid, Merida knew that expression on her mother’s face.  She was thinking quickly.  Elinor eyes traveled from Andres, who smiled in return, lingered especially long on Starfall then skated to her own daughter who was still clutching the sword.  “Merida,” the Queen hissed, “lower your sword.”

           Andres watched Merida’s fist tighten around the sword with a small, secret smile on his face. “Your daughter is a talented sword fighter,” Andres said. “I look forward to getting to know her better.”

           “And you as well,” Elinor returned in kind.  “Always a pleasure to welcome General Titus’s son.”

           Merida’s sword clattered to the ground.

           “I don’t know what you were thinking,” scolded Elinor, as soon as the door shut behind them in the tapestry room.  A low fire flickered in the hearth revealing a warm, cozy scene.  The mended tapestry depicting the entire royal family and the new tapestry depicting Merida and the queen as a bear hung on opposite walls.  The Queen’s things were neatly put away in their drawers, cabinets and trunks.  A small, glass-paned window was open to let in the cool night air.  It would have soothed Merida were it not for the Queen’s ire. “Practice sword-fighting with Lord Andres!”  Merida opened her mouth to respond, but Elinor bent down and started batting at the dirt stains on Merida’s dress.  She ignored Merida’s protests and tugged sharply at the seams coming undone.  “He’s a dangerous man and not to be insulted.  Why would you tell him you could marry whomever you want?” She spun Merida around and pushed her to the basin full of water. “Go wash your face.”

           “Dangerous,” Merida scoffed.  “He’s just a messenger.”

           “Merida…” the Queen said softly.  “Didn’t you see the crest on his saddle? He’s Titus’s son.”

           “I don’t care! He’s the one insulting me.  He said that all I am is a way to the crown and a way to ensure an heir.”

           “So you told him you were free to marry whomever you wished?”  Elinor’s brow rose and her lips pursed as Merida splashed water all over her face. “Merida, you can’t just tell people that.”

           “But why not? It’s true, isn’t it?” Merida asked, face now clean.  She turned to her mother whose face was tight with worry.

           “Of course, it’s true,” Elinor sighed. She offered Merida a soft cloth.  “But he wasn’t entirely wrong.”

           Merida’s outstretched hand froze before it reached the cloth.  “What do you mean by that?” Merida asked, voice low and hand sinking.

           “You will marry one of these lords,” Elinor explained gently.  

           “But, we agreed that I’d marry the one I loved,” Merida began, the words slipping in their haste to get out of her mouth.  It was the freedom she wrested for herself over a year ago, the truth and hope she clung on to throughout the endless lessons, the countless dinners, meetings and the letters and the decisionmaking, throughout every awkward stroll or dinner or dance with all of the young lords.  “We agreed that I’d marry the one who won my heart.”

           “One of the young lords will win your heart,” the Queen said, stepping closer.  Her voice was calm and soothing, the way it was when she wiped away Merida’s tears over a broken toy or a lost game. She began drying Merida’s face.  “He will love you.  You will bear his children and rule his house.  You will be a fine lady, a wonderful wife and an amazing mother.” Then her expression changed and she added, “I don’t see how any of this merits a sword in Lord Andres’s face.”

           “Is that all I’m going to be, Mother?” Merida asked, her face carefully blank.  “Is that my fate?”

           “What’s wrong with that fate? That was my fate and your grandmother’s,” she said, “We are happy.”

           “And my archery and riding out with Angus, will that be taken away from me?”

           “I’m sure your husband will let you do those things,” Elinor responded, brushing Merida’s hair back from her face, “But you may be too busy, dear.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other, but hopefully the payoff will be worth the wait :)
> 
> Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on my account nessalk in tumblr. If you want to see more, come check it out!


	5. Valhallarama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hiccup learns more of his mother and a certain childhood friend in the Highlands.

The heat bore down oppressively on Hiccup’s back.  The ocean breeze whipping past did little to cool the young Viking down and only made him thirstier than he already was. It had been a week since they set sail and, while the skies were fair and they hadn’t spotted any Berserker or Outcast ships, the heat and humidity was like nothing Hiccup had ever experienced.  A pressure was building until the very air seemed to be bursting with it.  Slowbottom, the lead sailor Stoick had chosen to accompany them, said they were riding on the beginnings of a storm.

“Don’t let the peace fool ya, lad,” Slowbottom warned Hiccup once during the trip.  Slowbottom, a thin, wiry Viking with dark blonde hair and mustache, was the best sailor on Berk.  Unlike the other sailors, he went out of his way to talk to Hiccup whenever Hiccup was on the deck.  Hiccup had a feeling this might be because he wouldn’t let anyone else get in a word edgewise and Hiccup was the only one polite enough to let him keep rambling.  Still, Hiccup didn’t mind.  Slowbottom was a fountain of knowledge for sailing—something Hiccup hadn’t needed to know much of since he began riding Toothless.  Slowbottom seemed to like him.  He praised Hiccup as a quick study when Hiccup was paying attention instead of “mooning like a daft sheep at the sky” and dispensed with frequent words of advice.  “The worst storms come in the calmest waters,” he told Hiccup in dire tones once.  Hiccup wasn’t sure if he was being literal or metaphoric or both.  It was sometimes hard to tell with Slowbottom.

For now, the _snekjja, the_ largest of its kindhastily repurposed from the fishermen and refitted with colorful Viking shields and carved dragon head for Stoick’s diplomatic mission to the Highlands, was making good time skimming across the water on the ocean breeze.  The sailors who weren’t manning the sails were clustered in the shadow of the mainsail to keep from the sun and heat. When they set out from the cool temperatures of Berk, the leather armor and chain mail helped keep the cold at bay.  In the southern climes, the combination of leather armor and chain mail trapped the heat and slowly roasted the Viking sailors.  Hiccup knew better than to suggest taking at least the chain mail armor off.  They were Vikings at war, after all.  At least they stowed their axes, longswords and spears near the prow.  Slowbottom had put his foot down and yelled that sailors were far more likely to trip and stab themselves on their own blades before an enemy could sneak up on them unawares in the open water.

Hiccup, in his specialized leather armor, was more comfortable.  Living on Berk taught Hiccup to resist the cold but spending the majority of the past three years on the back of the fastest flying dragon known to Vikings taught Hiccup to weather the heat as well.  Hiccup ignored the burn in his throat and focused on what he was seeing in his newest creation—the spyglass.

Trader Johann, in his last travel to Berk, told Hiccup of a looking glass that allowed one to see things at a great distance.  It was a tool used by sailors far to the east and south in Rome, Johann said.  There were no such pieces that made it this far north and if it had, the price would have been more than Hiccup could afford.  Johann did, however, have the design and the components to make it work. When Hiccup asked where he got it from, Johann only replied enigmatically, “Down south.”  It had taken Hiccup many bleary nights to decipher the design and the text written in a language he couldn’t read before he was able to piece it all together.

It was worth it.  Long after Hiccup could no longer see Toothless, eyes large and ears drooping, on the dock with Fishlegs and Meatlug waving goodbye beside him, Hiccup had climbed the mast.  He'd ignored the ribbing from the sailors and settled himself on the tallest part of the mast that he and Toothless had refitted to bear the weight of a dragon. Stoick had looked once in concern but said nothing.  Hiccup had spent the majority of the trip testing the spyglass—marking what he saw in his notebook and counting the nautical leagues they sailed before what he saw passed the ship.  He only came down when it was his turn to row with the other sailors, but for the most part, he spent it up where he could feel close to the wind and sky. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was riding Toothless.

Hiccup felt a triumphant grin on his lips.  Judging from the speed of the boat, Hiccup bet that the low rocks frequently covered by high waves was 4 leagues ahead of the _snekjja_.  But more than that, Hiccup knew that if he could only tinker with the glass, he could see further.  If he used this while on Toothless, then he could spot dragons from a longer distance.  They could fly high above and identify ships without the danger of Toothless coming under fire.  Who knew? At night, maybe Hiccup could use the spyglass to look at the stars or find out what the northern lights were made of.  That would shut Snotlout up.  Astrid might even--The grin slid off his face.  Of course, that would never happen.  He could maybe tell Snotlout if Snotlout was willing to listen (doubtful) but Astrid wouldn’t care.  She was too busy training new dragon riders and going out on patrols.

“Son!” Stoick called out. “Come down for a bit.” The chief peered up at him, using one hand to shield his eyes from the sun.  Of course, his father was still fully dressed and belted as if for battle.  His war hammer was slung into his belt and if he felt hot in his new lamellar armor, the Hooligan chief didn’t show it.

Hiccup stowed the spyglass into his belt and carefully climbed down the mast. He picked his way among the sailors and made his way to his father.  Stoick was standing at the helm, one hand along the wheel.  The chief’s eyes were on horizon.

“Did you need something, Dad?” asked Hiccup.

“Slowbottom says he’s been teaching you about sailing,” Stoick said.  “He says you’re learning fast.”

Hiccup nodded, wondering where his father was going with his questions.

Stoick gestured at the wheel.  “It’s about time you learned to take the wheel,” Stoick said gruffly. When Hiccup’s brows rose, Stoick added, “I need to consult the maps anyway.”

“Sure thing,” Hiccup said, standing behind the wheel and taking it from his father.   For most of the trip, Stoick had spent his time talking with the sailors about the winds and tracing their route on the map with Slowbottom.  He even took turns manning the sails.  Even though he’d specifically requested (and practically forced) Hiccup to go on this trip, he hadn’t interacted much with his own son.

Until now.

“Keep the sun to our left,” Stoick said.  “Keep her as steady as you can.  It’s a straight line from here to the Highlands.”  At Hiccup’s nod, he let go of the wheel and took out a worn, folded piece of parchment.  Up close, Hiccup could see that it was an old map.  It depicted Berk, the surrounding islands and a landmass Hiccup assumed was the Highlands far to the south. Faint charcoal lines marked a path between Berk and the Highlands. Little drawings and shapes dotted the map.

“What are those?” Hiccup asked, pointing.

Stoick grunted, “Ancient mariner symbols.  This map was already old when we started trading with the Highlanders. I doubt Slowbottom would know them all either.”

“Shouldn’t we figure out what they mean?” asked Hiccup, brow raised.

Stoick shrugged.  “Traders using this route to go between us and the Highlands never learned the symbols either,” the chief said.  “They came out fine.”

“Okay,” Hiccup said with misgiving.  “I’m pretty sure that one symbol directly ahead of us means rocks.  I spotted some a few leagues ahead of us with my spyglass—“

“Is that what you’ve been doing?” asked Stoick, frowning. “Spying on us?”

“What?” Hiccup asked, irritated. “No! The spyglass lets me see things far away.  There are rocks ahead. In fact…” Hiccup squinted at the map in Stoick’s hand.  “We should probably change our route instead of following the coast.”

“The route is fine,” Stoick said.  “Sailors have been using this route for ages.”

“Right,” Hiccup said nodding slowly. “But not all things are the same.  Some things change. We can save some time by correcting our course—“

“Hiccup,” Stoick sighed. “You’ve never sailed into the open ocean before.  Just because you’re picking it up fast doesn’t mean you know everything yet.”

“But if we just—“

“Son,” Stoick said firmly.  “You’re not accounting for the winds and tides.  You can’t just sail wherever you want to; you have to work with the sea to get where you want to go.”

Hiccup stared at his father for a beat then sighed.  “All right,” Hiccup said.  “But in about an about three and a half leagues, would you mind using my spyglass to check ahead?”

“Why?” Stoick frowned.

“Please, Dad,” Hiccup said.

“All right,” Stoick said reluctantly.  “I’ll mark the distance.” The next ten minutes passed in awkward silence.  Stoick busied himself with the map again, muttering to himself.  Hiccup ignored him for as long as he could but as silence stretched between the two of them, Hiccup knew he wasn’t gonna last.  For all that Stoick was the most terrifying Viking chief and warrior Hiccup had ever seen, he was equally the most awkward father Hiccup had ever known. Stoick had a way of making even the _air_ cringe in embarrassment.

“Why’d you bring me on this trip, Dad?” asked Hiccup.  He stared ahead into the distance, carefully skimming over the sailors sprawled on benches and clustered around sails, past their weapons and the colorful dragon-mast, and focused on the distance.

It was as if a dam broke.  “Come on, Hiccup,” said Stoick, looking up from the map.  “This trip is the most I’ve seen you the past months.  You’re always either in the forge or with Toothless.  I think it’s good you spent some time on the ground for a bit.” He looked anxious, worried…totally out of his element.  Hiccup supposed he couldn’t blame Stoick.   After the disastrous meeting at the Meade Hall, Hiccup had taken to avoiding everyone and spent most of his time helping Gobber at the forge, drawing up new plans, working on his new armor, and testing Toothless’s abilities.  He was surprised his father had noticed, however.  Stoick was hardly ever at home, either.  If he wasn’t supervising the construction of new fortifications and defenses, he was helping Spitelout and Phlegma train the new recruits.  If he wasn’t training the new recruits, he was helping the fisherman and the shepherds stock up food supplies.  If he wasn’t getting more food supplies, he was checking the slow but steady stream of new weapons Gobber and his apprentices were constructing.  He even dropped by on Astrid’s dragon riding lessons to offer some useful bits he gleaned from riding his Thunder Drum Thornado.  At night, he pored over the maps of Berk and the surrounding islands with Gobber and Spitelout at the Meade Hall preparing strategies for attack and defense.  The only time Stoick was not at the village was when he was taking his turn patrolling the waters with Thornado.

“Oh, you know me,” Hiccup said flippantly.  “I’m Mr. Popular—too many people wanting my time.” A sailor glanced up at Hiccup’s pronouncement before shrugging and resuming his talk with his friend. Hiccup thought he saw a smirk on the sailor’s lips but Hiccup couldn’t even bring himself to care. Hiccup knew what he looked like to other Vikings.  Forget that he was the chief’s son.  As a Viking, he was just too scrawny, too young and too… different.  Even though Hiccup was now taller than most of his friends, he still felt tiny compared to Stoick’s bulk.  Inadequate. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Hiccup continued blithely. “Not only am I the only Viking my age never to have killed anyone—hell, there are kids younger than me who’ve made their first kill—but whenever I think about spilling somebody’s guts with a dagger, I feel sick to my stomach. It might be better for Berk if I went out there killing things left and right—I don’t know anymore—but I just can’t do it.  Worse, the thought of _my_ dragons killing anyone—” Hiccup shook his head and consciously tried to loosen the tight hold he had on the ship’s wheel.  Hiccup realized that he had unconsciously been leading the _snekkja_ east.  They were off course now.

“Hiccup, I am being really honest with you,” Stoick said, eyeing his son with concern and reluctance.  “We have few—so few—advantages in this battle.  Dragons are one of those advantages and we _need_ all the advantage we can get.”

“They’re not tools, Dad!” Hiccup shouted.  “You can’t treat them like axes or swords you pull out of the forge and kill your enemies with.  I have worked—we in the Dragon Academy—worked _so_ hard in training them and making sure that the villagers aren’t afraid of them.  We could lose everything we’ve built over the years.”

Stoick shook his head, “Hiccup, we will lose all of Berk, all of our _lives_ , if we don’t use dragons in this war.  I hear what you’re saying but as chief, I have to make the hard decisions.  Villagers, _people_ , over dragons.”

Hiccup seemed to deflate. “I figured you’d say something like that,” he whispered.  “I even get it too.  Berk matters the most.  Using dragons—it makes sense.  They’ve been fighting Vikings all this time.  Dragons would know best how to kill us too. It was only a few years ago they were still trying.”  Hiccup tightened his grip on the wheel again.  The wind had been against them for some time now and it was a battle to keep the _snekkja_ headed where he wanted.  Abruptly, the wind shifted, swinging the sail.  Hiccup held the ship on course but just barely.  “But I know there’s a way we can do this without fighting,” Hiccup panted, fighting against the tension in the wheel, “a way that won’t get anyone killed.  I just need to think of it.”

“Son…”

“Dad, do we have to go to war?” Hiccup asked, staring up at his father full in the face for perhaps the first time in the whole trip, perhaps since the Meade Hall.

Stoick clasped his son’s shoulder.  His grip was careful not to help Hiccup with the wheel, but it held Hiccup steady all the same. “Hiccup, sometimes the only way is to go through something—not around,” the chief said.

Hiccup dropped his eyes and whispered, “I know.  I’m a disgrace to you, aren’t I?” He relaxed his hold on the ship’s wheel and corrected the direction so that they were following the old trade routes again.

“Hey!” Stoick said, grip tightening on Hiccup’s shoulder until Hiccup winced.  “I never said that. You’re a clever boy with a good heart. I’ve always been proud of you.” Stoick paused then amended, “Some moments less so than others.”

Hiccup rolled his eyes.  The rogue wind finally let up and Hiccup was able to release some of the tension in his arms. “Thanks, Dad,” Hiccup said. “It means a lot, especially since the village hates me.”

“They don’t hate you,” Stoick said but his voice held a mountain of doubt.  “Well, maybe not everybody.”  At Hiccup’s sour glance, Stoick hastily continued, “Anyway, don’t worry about the first kill. If we’re lucky, we’ll get attacked down in the Highlands and you can kill a Highlander.  They’re soft southerners—much easier first kill. It’ll be fun!”

“So not helping,” Hiccup deadpanned.  Stoick snickered and Hiccup realized with shock that his dad was teasing him—actually teasing him! He couldn’t recall the last time his dad had ever joked around with him. “Did you just—“

Stoick clapped Hiccup on the back and Hiccup stumbled into the ship’s wheel. “It looks like you’ve got the hang of the _snekjja,_ ” Stoick smiled. “Why don’t you go ahead and follow your own lead?”

“Dad?” Hiccup blinked.

“You’ve always done things in your own time and in your own way,” Stoick said, busily folding up the map and putting it in his belt. “I trust you. If you say there’s rocks up ahead, I don’t need to look into a funny tube to believe you.”

Hiccup grinned, “Thanks, Dad.”

Right on cue, sailors shouted a warning of rocks directly ahead.  But Hiccup was already steering the longship around.  After a few moments, Hiccup heard a collective sigh of relief.  “You were right about following the old route too,” Hiccup admitted before he smiled lopsidedly.

Stoick the Vast was a renowned warrior amongst Vikings of all clans, not just Berk.  There were very few things that scared him.  But at the sight of that smile, Stoick felt his pulse leap.  That smile was the one Hiccup wore right before he went ahead and did something new and crazy that only Hiccup could dream off.

“It just needs a few modifications,” said his son.

* * *

 

The Hooligans saw the Highlands coast appear on the horizon the next day.  When they cast anchor for the evening, Stoick took a moment to speak to all of them while they were munching on dried jerky and hard bread.  Ale was passed from person to person.  Hiccup drank some, though he grimaced at the taste and knew he would get thirstier later.  The other sailors drank as if it were fresh spring water.  Hiccup spotted Slowbottom take a long, deep pull.

“I told you we were going to the Highlands, but now I want to explain how important our mission is,” Stoick said, standing tall near the prow of the longship.  He seemed unmoving, even though the ship rolled with the waves.  “It’s no secret. Berk hasn’t yielded enough crops to last us through the long winter.  Our herds are dwindling and the Outcast raids aren’t helping.  With all our men either fishing, or setting up defenses, patrolling or training, we don’t have enough people mining ore and making weapons.

More than the Outcast raids, more than the war with the Berserkers, this famine is a danger to us.  Our main source of trade is with the Berserkers and obviously that port is closed to us.  The other villages may be willing to trade with us, but they just don’t have enough supplies to share. We could begin raiding, but we need fewer enemies and more allies.  We will need all the help we can get against the Berserkers.

Though we are enemies, we once traded with the Highlands.”  Here, Stoick’s eyes lowered and he looked, for a split second, unbearably sad.  “Through my wife’s friendship with Queen Elinor, trade flowed freely between us and our village prospered.”

Hiccup started in surprise and saw many of the younger sailors do the same.  The older ones only listened with eyes narrowed.  It was common knowledge that Berk had once traded with the Highlands.  Hiccup never thought to ask how it happened; he only knew that was an unusual arrangement.  He never dreamed that his mother was involved in it and with so famous a person.  Even this far north, many Vikings knew of the Bear King Fergus and his Queen Elinor the diplomat.  Fergus’s name was as good as a swear word amongst Vikings, but his prowess as a warrior was respected and legendary.  Queen Elinor’s cunning as a leader and her actions to unite the Highland clans into one kingdom earned her the personal enmity of the Berserker clan, which had lead the invasion.  She was one of the few foreign women most Vikings knew by name.

“The trade died when Valhallarama…” Stoick swallowed before continuing, “I mean to continue the trade.  The Highlanders want our fish and our dragon bones as much as we want their ore, their cattle and their grain.  To do this, we need to put our best foot forward.”  Stoick narrowed his eyes at certain sailors.  “This means no fighting.  We are to come, trade and leave.  That’s it.  I don’t want to hear about wild tales of riding dragons or drunken brawls or dishonored daughters and wives or murdered Highlanders."

Some of the sailors snorted or laughed but they quieted when Stoick gazed at them.  An old sailor leaned forward and asked, “How do you know we’ll be welcome now?”

“Queen Elinor responded to my letter,” he said, ignoring the openly astonished looks directed his way.  “King Fergus assured us safe passage and the Queen awaits to welcome us in her halls.”

Hiccup heard other sailors let out a low curse.  Another whispered, “I didn’t know we were gonna be visiting bleeding royalty.”

“Treat them with respect,” Stoick said and if his look was fierce before, it was positively deadly now.  “Remember, the food in your bellies and in the bellies of your family can depend on how well you behave.”

“How do you know they won’t knife us?” asked another sailor.  “The letter could be a trap.” Others muttered in agreement and Hiccup found himself nodding.

Stoick folded his arms. “I know them,” Stoick responded simply.  “I trust the Queen to hold to her word.”

“Yeah, but the other lords might not,” Slowbottom muttered near Hiccup.  At Hiccup’s questioning glance, Slowbottom whispered, “The Queen was fond of your mother, lad, but the clan lords have no love for Vikings.  They won’t take kindly to seeing Viking ships on their rivers and ports.”

“I don’t trust them!” said a sailor, standing up.  “My uncle was killed by a Highlander.”

“Yeah!” said another.  “I’m not gonna die with a knife in my throat because I was playing nice with Highlanders.  They hate us as much as we hate them.  The Queen’s say so won’t stop every man.”

“You don’t know this queen,” Stoick said wryly before lifting his voice.  “I hear you! I’m not asking you to walk into the Highlands like sheep.  I am _telling_ you to walk in, ready for a fight, but with your weapons sheathed. Trust me, they’re going to be much more nervous than we are.”  Stoick chuckled and the rest of the sailors joined in his mirth.  Hiccup marveled at his father’s ability to connect with villagers, even when they disagreed with him. “I chose each of you personally because you’re good fighters and you have _good heads_ on your shoulders.  I know our policy is to kill each other on sight, but we’ve got bigger dragons to fight.  Remember that.  Now can I count on you?”

Sailors lifted their voice in agreement.  Though they had complained to Stoick only moments before, their chorus of agreement was strong and firm.  Stoick smiled a fierce smile at each of them.  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” he said.  “Now try and get some sleep.  Tomorrow, it’ll be time to put on sheep’s skin over our dragon hides.”

The men scattered to unroll their bedding and settle in whatever comfortable nook they could find.  Hiccup was one of the few who remained in place along with Slowbottom.  Hiccup chewed the jerky slowly as he gazed out into the darkness.  The moon was covered by a cloud and it was impossible to tell which way the Highland was but for tiny lights flickering in the distance.  When Hiccup asked Slowbottom earlier where the lights were coming from, Slowbottom told him that it probably came from a MacGuffin hold.  They were the largest Highland clan that lay closest to the northern coast and one of the strongest supporters of the DunBroch clan.  Still, Stoick had ordered them to give it a wide berth.

“Wish the mast was big enough to unroll a bedroll on, eh?” Slowbottom asked, nudging the boy.  His dark blond beard looked especially tangled and windswept, but his watery blue eyes were kind as they surveyed Hiccup.

Hiccup blinked out of his reverie.  “Huh? Yeah, I guess.  It’s a bit… crowded,” Hiccup said.

Slowbottom bit a large chunk of hard bread and washed it down with his ale. “Ya get over shyness quick on long voyages,” Slowbottom observed. He gazed at Hiccup critically.  “How are you liking taking hold of the wheel, lad?”

“Not so bad,” Hiccup admitted. “Say, Slowbottom… Did you ever make the trip down to the Highlands?”

“Aye,” Slowbottom nodded slowly. “In fact, my first trip down south I went with Stoick too and your mother.”  Slowbottom took a sip from the flask by his hip.  “It wouldn’t be your first trip down south either.”

Hiccup’s brows shot up.

“I’m surprised you don’t remember it,” Slowbottom snickered, “You learned to walk in the Highlands.”

“I did?” Hiccup asked, surprised.  He licked his dry, crusted lips, “My dad couldn’t have been happy about that…”

“No,” Slowbottom shook his head slowly. “But your dad’s a wise man.”  At Hiccup’s questioning look, Slowbottom explained, “He knew better than to say no to your mum.”

Hiccup waited until Slowbottom stopped guffawing before he tried different question.  “What was she like?” Hiccup asked.  Stoick seldom talked about Valhallarama and his silence deterred Hiccup from asking.  All that Hiccup remembered of her was warm arms and a hearty laugh.

Slowbottom glanced once, very quickly at Hiccup.  Then he said in a casual voice,  “She was the finest sailor I’ve ever seen.  It didn’t matter what kind of boat it was, she could sail it in any weather—storm, sleet, calm.  She was curious too.  She was always lookin’ round finding new places and meeting different people.  That’s how she met Elinor.”  Slowbottom took another swig from his flask.  Hiccup waited patiently.  He knew that if he kept quiet, Slowbottom would fill it with his stories.  “One time a storm gets her south, further south than she’s ever been, and that’s when she spots a woman clinging to a piece of driftwood. Elinor was shipwrecked from a visit to her family clan.  Most Vikings would have let her die or ransomed her to the Berserker Clan or to her husband as soon as they found out who she was.  Not your mom.  Valhallarama fished her out of the sea, nursed her back to health and brought her all the way to the Bear King’s door.”  

“That’s…incredible,” Hiccup said.

“As incredible as a Viking riding dragons,” Slowbottom said.  “That’s where you get that from, you know? That urge to explore and to make friends out of your enemies.”

“Why haven’t I heard it before?”

Slowbottom sighed.  “It’s hard for Stoick to hear,” the sailor said.  “Valhallarama loved going south and visiting Elinor.  She’d visit every few months and took you with her when you were a babe.  You and the princess grew up together.”

“Now you’re just kidding me,” Hiccup said, brow furrowed.  “There’s no way I was friends with a princess.”

“Not the way I heard it,” Slowbottom said.  “You’re the same age or just about. Valhallarama said that the only reason you learned to walk was so that you could run after her.” The sailor waggled his brows suggestively.

Hiccup scoffed, “Well, I doubt she’d remember me.”

“I’m thinking your dad wants her to remember you.  Or at least hopes the Queen does.”

“Why? I thought my dad wanted as little contact as possible between us.”

“We haven’t had contact with the Highlands in over ten year.  We’ve given them no good reason to trade with us,” Slowbottom said.  “Now I’m just a simple sailor, but I’m thinking it’s easier to trade with a long lost friend than it is to trade with an enemy.  I’m thinking you’re Valhallarama’s boy just as much as Stoick’s.  I’m thinking your dad wants you there so that the Queen remembers her and is more… like to give us favorable arrangements.”

“That’s smart,” Hiccup said, blinking.  It’d be something he’d do himself if he were in his father’s position.  He was ashamed to realize that he hadn’t been thinking of the visit in those terms.  Stoick had said often enough he wished Hiccup to learn some of his duties as chief, especially with the onset of the Outcast raids.  Of course, all that had fallen to the wayside as soon as the Hooligans started arming for the Berserkers.

“Your dad’s a fine chief, Hiccup,” Slowbottom said. “You could stand to learn a thing or two from him about what it means to lead.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read/reviewed/left kudos for the story!
> 
> I should have mentioned this before, but CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other, but hopefully the payoff will be worth the wait :)
> 
> Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on my account nessalk in tumblr. If you want to see more, come check it out!


	6. Succession

It was magic the way the scribe made bloodthirsty barbarians and daring naval battles seem as interesting as a box of rocks.  Merida would be asleep if she didn’t have a pounding headache.  The girl could barely decipher the words from the scribe’s cramped, spidery script and she still had pages to finish.

But Elinor was determined that Merida should learn the rules of succession and the Queen would grill her thoroughly before day’s end.

There was nothing for it.  Merida angled the tome up to the window, hoping the light would somehow make the words more legible, and read aloud:

“Ailis of Skye became heir to her family’s fortune and the ruling lordship of Clan Skye after the deaths of her two older brothers and one younger brother, all unmarried and without issue, during the Northern Invasions.  Ailis elected to marry Jaime of House Campbell, second son to the chief and a great war hero, to commit their troops to Skye’s aid, but first passed the lordship of Clan Skye to her cousin Severn Edgeris Skye whose issue includes Ehren, Elinor and Esther. ”

Merida blinked, snapping out of her stupor.  She recognized the names if not the circumstances. Ailis of Skye? Her great aunt? Severn of Skye was her grandfather.  So the Elinor in the text must be her mother.  

The princess bent over the tome, fingers tracing her mother’s name.  Elinor would have been a very small child at the time of the Northern Invasions.  Ailis would have been younger than Merida—a young girl in the blush of womanhood already assuming command of a clan facing annihilation.

“I didn’t think you’d be such a dedicated scholar.”

Merida’s gaze snapped to the entrance of the castle library. Years of hunting, first with Linus then with her own father and her father’s men, taught Merida how to step softly and even more about paying attention.  Very few men in Fergus’s service could take her unawares.  He had taken her unawares twice.  

Lord Andres leaned against the great doorway, arms folded and head tilted to the side.  The darkness in the hallway behind him made it difficult to see him very clearly. Golden bars of sunlight, surging past the narrow windows of the library, spilled across the room and highlighted random features—the curve of his jaw, the length of his neck, the dagger at his belt.  He was dressed in a loose, dark-red tunic that hung down to his thighs and dark braccae underneath.  It wasn’t anything she hadn’t seen Titus or his officers wear before, but the clothing was obviously of much finer quality. He bore a singe golden medallion that gleamed against his chest.  

He seemed unchanged in the months since she last saw him.  Merida had only seen the lord briefly after their fight in the yard.  The Roman and his company rode out the next morning along with many of the clan lords.  Merida watched him go from the window of her room with mixed feelings.  She never wanted to see his face again but at the same time, she hadn’t wanted him to go just yet.  She still wanted to smash his stupid face with a practice sword.

“No doubt you thought I didn’t know my letters,” Merida said, fingers tightening around the quill in her hand.  Ink blotted the parchment underneath her fingertips, but she didn’t care.  

“Come now, Princess,” Andres said, stepping forward.  His tone was warm with a hint of laughter underneath like a fish’s shadow rippling underneath the surface of a sunny creek.  Merida felt like she was being mocked.

“I didn’t give you leave to enter the room,” Merida said, rising from her seat abruptly. She put as much of her mother as she could in her voice and asked, “Why are you here?”

Andres froze upon her words. The bars of sunlight now fell across his lips, the strong frame of his shoulders, and the tops of his curly, dark hair.  Slowly, Andres lifted his hands in surrender. “Your mother’s library is well-known,” he replied.  “It’s rumored to be the finest collection of texts and treatises, ancient records, stories and songs written by priests and scribes for leagues around.”  

“You like to read?” Merida asked, folding her arms.  Even though her tone was heaped with scorn, she couldn’t deny the appreciation written in his face as he looked at the castle library.  Castle DunBroch housed a modest library, but since Elinor’s ascension as the matriarch of the clan, the library had grown in size.  The collection of a dozen tomes and scrolls housed in a small, cold room near the tower grew to half a hundred in a room the size of a small hall with a big hearth, spacious wooden shelves, a handsome mahogany table and comfortable chairs.  

“When I was young,” Andres said, lowering his hands, “I thought to be a scholar in the great schools in Rome.”  Though his words were directed to her, he turned this way and that to survey the library.  Merida let herself feel a flicker of pride when she saw the admiration in Andres’s eyes.  

“Andres the philosopher lecturing to a hall of reluctant boys,” Merida said, unable to help smiling at the absurdity of the image.  Though she didn’t know him at all, she already knew that Andres was far too…intense for such a calling.  Even now, dressed down as he was and behaving very courteously, he had a way of drawing the eye.  He didn’t bluster like Osgar or fade into the background like Alan.  He was quiet, like Niall, but he took your attention whether you willed it or not.  

“Would you like my help with your lesson for the day?”

The offer surprised Merida.  Usually, the clan lords only took the time to admire Elinor’s rigorous curriculum for her daughter; they never bothered to actually see Merida’s work or learn what she did.  When she described her lessons to Osgar Macintosh once, she could almost see his eyes glaze over.  Still, she wouldn’t accept his offer—not from him. “I don’t need your help,” she said, straightening.  Then her brow furrowed.  “How did you know I was at my lessons?”

“I’ll tell if you let me in,” he said, lips curling into a smile.

Merida locked eyes with him.  He told her once that a man’s face gave everything away.  She looked at the light and shadows across his features and saw nothing except friendliness… and something else. A voice in the back of Merida’s mind that sounded suspiciously like her mother asked, _What do you think you’re doing?_ “Fine,” Merida said.  “You may enter.”  She stepped away from the workspace she’d marked out for herself in the mahogany table.

As Andres walked into the room, Merida wondered if she’d made a mistake.  There was an unmistakable sense of danger about the man—a feeling she’d never seen in anyone before.  But the more she stared, the more she couldn’t see what it was.  The dark gray eyes, the austere face, the lithe frame gave nothing—and everything away at the same time.  Andres paced the length of the room, arms loose at his side.  Though his attention was on the tomes and scrolls, Merida couldn’t shake the sense that he was equally as aware of her every movement.  Her heart started pounding in her chest and something primal whispered in Merida’s ear to run.

“There are libraries in Rome,” he said in a quieter tone.  “Beautiful collections.  But the finest are in Alexandria to the east.  There once was a library as big as this castle with more scrolls than you can read in a lifetime.”  He turned to her suddenly and his face was, for one brief moment, unguarded.  Merida realized, with a sinking feeling, that he could be beautiful if he let himself.  “Perhaps you’ll see it one day.”

“You’re well-traveled for a simple messenger,” Merida said but her tone was gentle.  The drumming of her heart had settled into something less like fear and more like want.

“I would be a poor messenger if I did little traveling,” Andres replied.  He inspected a large map of the Highlands recently commissioned by Queen.  The map was a work of many months and built on the previous knowledge of many hunters, traders and merchants.  The resulting work was engraved by the finest carvers and painters into a large wooden frame that was mounted on the mantelpiece above the hearth—elegance, knowledge and practicality combined into one. Typical Elinor.

“Traveling or campaigning?” Merida asked, words sharp.  It was easier to see and treat Andres simply as an enemy.

“Conquering, Your Highness,” Andres replied, turning to her for the first time since his entrance into the library.  His smile had grown brittle and the shutters in his eyes were back up.  Merida felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck.

“Which brings me back to my first question,” Merida returned in kind, narrowing her eyes at him, “Why are you here?”

“I came personally to let the King and Queen know the situation at Antonine’s Wall,” said the Roman walking slowly to her.  Merida flushed under his steady, searching gaze but met his eyes nonetheless. “The Emperor has relieved my father of command and called him back to Rome.  I am his replacement.”

Merida’s jaw dropped.  “I… I didn’t know that generals could retire,” she stammered.  Her thoughts skittered back to Lady Ailis’s words in her birthday feast only a few weeks past. _Times are changing._ “I thought it was a post held for life.”  

“Your father asked the same question when I told him the news,” Andres said, staring down at her.  He hadn’t been this close to her since he had slammed her up against the wall during their practice fight.  The memory of it and of her anger strengthened her. She glared up at him.  Andres smiled at her before walking past.  His eyes drifted this way and that, calmly surveying the room, but always nearer and always drawing closer to her.  “It’s true. Most generals die on the job. But every once in a while you’ll find a man too stubborn to die.  The Emperor gives them high honors and places in his council.”

“I don’t think Titus would like that,” Merida said, turning to keep him in her line of sight.  She was far too distracted to even think of honoring Andres with the titles she gave Titus.  

Andres’s attention turned to her once again.  “Will you miss him?” he asked suddenly. His gray eyes were suddenly very earnest.

“No.  Yes,” Merida replied, disconcerted.  “Your father is… very kind.”

“A general is not kind,” Andres said shortly, turning away to the window.  “Your sleeve is stained with ink and your notes are spilling on the floor.  No doubt your teacher set you to read some book you dislike.”

The princess lifted her arms and spotted the offending ink stains on her sleeves.  Merida usually didn’t care for her attire as long as it was comfortable and let her run, ride and fight as she liked.  The dress she wore today was the gift from Lady Alerie.  It was a light blue gown with a pattern of leaves embroidered at the hem and cuffs.  The stitching was probably done for, Merida thought and feared her mother’s reaction when Elinor undoubtedly would find out. “You’ve good eyes, Roman,” Merida said.

“It’s hard not to look at you, Princess.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who gave me kudos! You guys are awesome :) CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other, but hopefully the payoff will be worth the wait :)
> 
> Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on my account nessalk in tumblr. If you want to see more, come check it out!


	7. The Highlands

Hours after passing into the Highlands, the sailors spied a longship directly ahead flying a green banner that flapped briskly in the breeze.  The longship faced the shore and took up most of the space around the river.  Hiccup realized that, while the ship was smaller than the _snekjja_ , it was more maneuverable—ideal for river combat.  Men in leather armor and bearing short swords were either at the benches or staring directly ahead at the approaching Viking ship.

Stoick signaled for the sailors to stop their rowing.  Slowbottom let the sails slacken.  A murmur rose amongst the sailors and Hiccup saw many furtively reach for their longswords. Hiccup’s hands tightened around the ship’s wheel.  He was too far from the weapons and even if he had a sword, he didn’t know how much good he’d be against seasoned Highland warriors.  It was dead silent on the _snekjja_.  Slowbottom, who never shut up, watched the Highland ship with narrowed eyes.  Hiccup followed his gaze.

This was the first time Hiccup had ever seen a Highlander.  Stoick joked that they were soft and weak, but there was no softness Hiccup could find among the implacable, hard faces gazing back at him.  Many of the men were as thick and broad-shouldered as many of the villagers in Berk and bore scowls just as threatening.  But what intrigued Hiccup the most was the apparel they wore. They wore leather and bore steel like most warriors, but unlike Vikings, the men wore patterned cloth round their waist that fell to their knees.  It looked like a skirt.  Hiccup saw many of the sailors murmuring amongst themselves.

“It’s called a kilt,” Slowbottom told Hiccup abruptly.  When Hiccup glanced at him, Slowbottom clarified, “Instead of trousers like proper folk, it’s the fashion of Highland men to wear kilts.  Valhallarama said you could tell which clan a man is from based on the pattern of his kilt.  Highland foolishness.”  Slowbottom shook his head.  “Whatever you do, don’t laugh at it. Quick way to set an argument.”

The Highland ship drifted closer with the current.  From this distance, Hiccup could make out the design on the banner—a sword set against a circular pattern.

“Who goes there?” hailed a strangely accented voice in Norse from the Highland longship.    The man who spoke wore a kilt of deep blue and green.  Hiccup thought it looked ridiculous, but there was nothing ridiculous about the studded leather armor the man wore around his torso or the skullcap round his head. But more than his apparel, there was a careful nonchalance about his person.  Most men, Hiccup knew from experience, tried to make themselves seem intimidating.  This man, though he was shorter and older than most of the Viking sailors, was making a deliberate effort to appear friendly—almost as if he was intimidating by default.

“Stoick of Berk,” said Stoick, folding his thickly muscled arms.  He looked calm and unimpressed.  “We were assured safe passage to Clan DunBroch by the king and queen.  And who might you be?”

“The King’s assurance of safe passage,” the man replied.  His eyes took quick stock of the _snekjja_ , surveying the shields and dragonhead, focusing on the men and their weapons and finally resting on Stoick. “Mind if I come aboard? I’m to escort you personally to the castle.”

Many of the sailors muttered amongst themselves.  “Something wrong with your boat?” Stoick asked, ignoring the warning from his men.

“It’s yours that I’m worried about.”

“What does that mean?”

“The Highlands remember when the Vikings came to raid and plunder,” he said in a hard tone.  “Even escorted as you are by the King’s ship, they’re not like to leave a Viking boat alone especially one so armed.  I’ll be there in case they need…gentle persuasion.”

Hiccup blinked and realized the truth of the man’s words.  The _snekjja_ was outfitted for war.  Its men wore their weight in weapons and armor.  It hardly looked friendly and neighbor-like.  Stoick seemed to be thinking along the same lines as his son.  The chief took a moment then called over, “Be our guest.”

By this point, the two ships drifted close enough that only a few feet of water separated them.  The Highlander spoke a few words to another sailor in low tones before shaking his head.  Then he walked to the railing of the Highland ship and with an impressive leap jumped aboard the _snekkja_.  He ignored the surprised, hostile stares of the sailor around him and took a long, searching look around the _snekjja_.  His brow lifted when he spotted Hiccup behind the wheel but other than that flicker, his expression gave nothing away.  For a man armed with only a short sword and outnumbered by hostile Vikings, he seemed impressively at ease.  He approached Stoick.  Behind him, Hiccup could see the Highlanders reaching for weapons on their own boat.  The Viking sailors realized it at the same time.  The atmosphere grew thick and tense.  Hiccup’s pulse started hammering in his throat.

“Stoick the Vast. Chief of the Hairy Hooligan tribe,” said the man. “You probably don’t remember me, but you’re a hard man to forget.”  He smiled then and executed a deep, respectful nod.  It was as if a breath was released.  The Highlanders visibly relaxed.

“I know your face,” said the chief.  His eyes flicked once to his men and he nodded.  The Viking sailors slowly put down their weapons.  “Fergus’s man.  The Queen’s favorite champion.”

“Aye, the King’s man through and through,” said the man, laughing.  “But I’m too old to be championing anything.  The name’s Kincaid and I’ll be your guide.  Shall we?”

The sailors were quiet as they rowed against the current and sailed deeper into enemy territory.  They watched Kincaid with mistrustful gazes but otherwise made no comment.  Slowbottom manned the sails himself while Stoick paced the length of the boat.  Every now and again he’d relieve a sailor who needed a break from rowing or talked in low tones with others.  In sharp contrast to the increasing beauty of their surroundings, the Viking chief grew tenser and tenser.

Hiccup could see why the Viking clans wanted to conquer the Highlands.  It was a land of gently sloping hills, breathtaking heights, winding rivers, verdant green, deep forests and an abundance of wildlife.  They spotted several sizeable herds of cattle and sheep that could feed Berk comfortably if they had the means to transport them back.  The breeze that blew past was warm and gentle, filled with the heady scents of strange flowers.   He missed Toothless now, more than ever. There was just so much to take in and see and he knew he could explore it all on Toothless’s back.  Hiccup felt like he was drowning in the intensity of the colors and the richness of the scents in the air.  

“Careful, lad,” said the Highlander.  “If your mouth hangs open any wider, you’ll catch a fish jumping out of the river.” Hiccup started badly, then blushed.  He’d been so absorbed staring at everything around them that he hadn’t even noticed the Highlander approach the ship’s wheel.  The man laughed, not unkindly, at Hiccup’s reaction.  “You’ll never see her like no matter how far you travel.  Is it your first time?”

“The first I remember,” Hiccup replied, careful to keep his voice unhurried and clear.  “I was told that I visited the Highlands when I was little.”

“I thought I recognized your face,” Kincaid said.  “You could pass for your mother.”

Hiccup blinked.  Was the stranger making fun of him or did his words just translate badly from his own native tongue to Norse? “Was it the slender hips or the long flowing hair that gave it away?” Hiccup asked dryly in slow Gaelic.  At Kincaid’s confusion, he repeated the man’s earlier words in Gaelic.

Kincaid guffawed at his own mistake.  “Pardon, lad,” said the man.  “I’m not as fluent in Norse as I used to be. Where did you learn Gaelic?”

“I apprenticed under the blacksmith in Berk who knew the language.  He wanted me to be fluent so that I could watch out for … bad traders.”

“So a blacksmith, a trader, a linguist and a beauty,” Kincaid smiled.  It was hard to remember that he was, technically, a possible enemy.  Kincaid’s face was open and friendly.   _He could be another Gobber,_ Hiccup thought.

“I’m not a very good blacksmith or linguist,” Hiccup shrugged, suddenly worrying that he had revealed too much of himself.  Slowbottom’s word of warning sounded in his mind, and he affected a casual nonchalance.  “I am a beauty, though.”

“Think much of yourself, do you?”

“Some men have their tempers.  Others their appetites,” Hiccup said, “I have my vanity. I can’t say I’ve seen a prettier face than the one I see in the water.”

Kincaid laughed out loud again,  “If you were this spunky when you were little, I can see why the princess liked you so much.”

“Did she?” Hiccup asked, curious in spite of his resolve to be more wary.  He knew Elinor and Fergus by reputation but little had been said of their daughter.

“Aye,” Kincaid said.  “Just a few months back, I was telling her how she swore she wouldn’t come down from the top of the tower ‘till you returned.”

“So the stories are true,” Hiccup said, brow raised,  “Princesses do wait for handsome heroes on the tops of towers.”

“Oh, that’s Merida, all right,” Kincaid said dryly.  “Traditional to the bone.”

They passed several ports and small villages.  Many fled at the sight of the passing Viking ship—farmers with their ploughs, shepherds with their flocks, fishermen with their nets, women, and children.  Those that didn’t lined the shores, arms crossed or bearing weapons and scowling viciously.  Hiccup spied many of the sailors returning the same gesture, but at least no angry words were exchanged.  Those that followed the Viking ship were quick to disperse once they spotted Kincaid walking the length of the boat.  Once, a group of boys not much younger than Hiccup followed the Viking longship.  Kincaid spoke one angry sentence in Gaelic Hiccup didn’t catch, and the boys scattered obediently back to their villages.

Stoick was keenly aware of their appearances after Kincaid’s warning.  The warriors they crossed on the shore wore leather armor, if they had any, (and none as fine as the ones the king’s men wore) and bore clubs or short swords.  It looked woefully inadequate compared to the chainmail and longswords the Vikings bore.  The further along they went, the more Stoick asked warriors to either shed the chainmail hauberk, their secondary weapon or cover themselves with their cloaks.

“Gods, even as beggared as we are for supplies, we’re still better armed than they are,” Stoick said to Hiccup, disbelief and amusement in his deep voice. He was careful to keep his voice low even though Kincaid was on the other end of the longship. “I’ll be damned if there’s a suit of armor in this land as good as my own.”

“Glad to hear it,” Hiccup said dryly.  “That lamellar armor is my newest design.”

“You made this?” Stoick blinked, touching the lamellar hauberk he wore.

“I still can’t train dragons to kill Vikings…” Hiccup hesitated and continued, “but I will support you any other way I can.”  Hiccup smiled. “Toothless heated the steel and I used a different pattern of fastening the pieces together.  It gives you better protection and has more flexibility. I took an axe to that model and even had Toothless bite it, but it won’t give.” With the back of his hand, Hiccup patted a place near the chest where, if Stoick squinted, he could see the armor was slightly dented.

“How long have you been working on this?” Stoick asked, brow raised.  Lamellar armor was highly prized amongst the Vikings.  It afforded better protection than boiled leather or chain mail armor, but the time and effort required to create lamellar armor almost wasn’t worth it. Stoick was surprised when Gobber threw the lamellar armor at him during one of his visits to the forge and told him to try it out.  He didn’t think Gobber had the time or the patience to make it. He should have known this was Hiccup’s work.

“A few months,” Hiccup responded, eyes carefully not meeting his father’s.

Stoick gave him a hard stare, but let it drop. “Is that one of yours too?” Stoick asked, giving his son’s leather armor a critical once-over.  “It looks… good.” By which, Stoick mostly meant unusual.  Dark leather armor and shoulder guards covered his son’s upper torso. The red shoulder guard was emblazoned with the grinning horned helm of Berk.  If Stoick squinted at the red insignia on the strap, he could just make out the shape of a dragon with half of its tail fin missing. Bulky bracers covered his son’s arms from elbow to wrist.  The armor seemed to not give enough coverage but was too bulky at the same time.  Stoick tried tracing the straps to see what they held together but he couldn’t make it out.

“Yeah, I finally finished it,” Hiccup smiled. “It’s a new design mostly for flying with Toothless.  It’s light, maneuverable and gives me enough protection.  Actually, I’m working on a couple of special features that I think you’re gonna—“

“That armor might protect you from a short sword, but you’re definitely gonna get skewered with a spear,” Stoick interrupted, frowning. “You should have used more chain mail for yourself.”

“Let’s face it, Dad,” Hiccup said dryly. “If a Berserker were coming at me, my best defense is to disappear. Chain mail isn’t gonna help with the running.”  Hiccup expected his father to laugh or smile at least.  The air between the two of them was much lighter after their conversation days past.  Instead, Stoick was frowning hard at Hiccup’s armor.

“I need your help, Hiccup,” Stoick said, looking up at Hiccup’s face at last.  “Did you mean what you said… about supporting me any other way you could?”

“Of course,” Hiccup said, glancing up at his father. Slowbottom's words the night before regarding Stoick's motivation for bringing Hiccup to the Highlands flashed in Hiccup's mind.

“We _need_ this trade to go well,” Stoick said.

 _Obviously_ , Hiccup wanted to say but at the serious look on his father's face, the boy replied, "I understand."

“So could you please not let anything... Hiccup happen?" Stoick winced.

“What?” Hiccup asked, fully turning to face his father properly.  Slowbottom barked at him to pay attention to the wheel but Hiccup ignored him.

“We need to present ourselves appropriately to the king and queen,” Stoick said in a rush.  “Like proper Vikings.  We can’t afford to have a… disaster happen because the king’s hair caught on fire or the forge exploded or the princess got skewered with a spear from a weapon you designed…”

“And I’m the reason all those scenarios happened?” Hiccup gawked.  Humiliation swept over Hiccup, but it was a familiar feeling.   How many times had he had to tell his father how he screwed up? Still, it was a blow to his confidence especially in light of their last conversation. Hiccup guessed this was one of those moments Stoick was less proud of Hiccup than other times. “Great Odin,” Hiccup said softly, exhaling.  “I'm not going to screw up that badly. I'm not going to sabotage this mission."

“Son, I know you mean well," Stoick said. "And I know you can't help who you are. But if you can just...not tell any of the Highlanders of certain parts? Like your propensity for disaster? Or doing wild, dangerous things to make a point?"

“Or riding dragons?” Hiccup asked flatly.

“Especially riding dragons,” Stoick said firmly. “I think we’ve learned that that’s a secret best kept to ourselves. You know what happened the last time outsiders found out about our dragons.”

Hiccup winced at the reminder.  Both Alvin and Dagur’s reaction to finding out about Berk’s dragons, though wildly different, were alarming to say the least.  And the Berserkers were supposed to be their allies... Hiccup couldn’t imagine what the Highlands’ reaction would be to the news that the Hooligans could now ride dragons.

“I can’t be honest to a single person over there, can I?” Hiccup sighed.  

“Do you even want to be honest to a Highlander?” Stoick asked, raising a brow.

Hiccup huffed.  He hadn’t been planning on making close friends with Highlanders, but years of trying his hardest to act as Viking-like as possible and having it blow up in his face made him wary of dissimulation. Still... If his own people couldn’t understand that dragons weren’t weapons, he shouldn’t expect any Highlander to understand that either.  If his best friend (Hiccup tried not think of her as his ex-girlfriend) couldn’t understand _him_ , then he shouldn’t expect any better from anybody else.

“Fine,” Hiccup relented. “I’m going to put my very best Viking foot forward.  It’s gonna be great.  You’ll see.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who gave me kudos! You guys are awesome :) CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see Hiccup and Merida interacting right away. They still have a ways to go before they meet each other, but hopefully the payoff will be worth the wait :)
> 
> Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on my account nessalk in tumblr. If you want to see more, come check it out!


	8. From Rome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Princess of DunBroch is a strange creature in so very many ways to Sima. But what the handmaiden begins to see in the Princess's behavior is disquietingly familiar.

           Sima hurried to the princess’s chambers with the good news.  The handmaiden walked swiftly up the stone staircase, ducking her head shyly at passing warriors and murmuring excuses to other servants who bustled past bearing linens or trays of spirits.  Sima herself bore a tray of honeyed ham, a loaf of bread baked with nuts, cream and strawberries and a flagon of iced water.  She concentrated on keeping the food and drink from spilling despite the distractions on the floor below.  

           The Great Hall was buzzing with activity.  Servants quickly set the table with dishes, coaxed the great hearth to a blaze and hurriedly swept the dust and debris of the day from the floor.  Maudie was at the center of attention, her plump face set with an expression of distracted ferocity.  Sima hadn’t seen the Great Hall look so grand since the night of the princess’s birthday.  It was ironic that the princess hated these events.  It happened almost weekly in the castle of DunBroch.  Sima knew many of the young girls from Clan MacGuffin who’d give their arm to sit in so fine a dinner.

           Sima forced the memory aside. She carefully negotiated the busy halls, counting doors and turns.  This was a route she learned by heart since her service began at Clan DunBroch almost three months ago, but habits died hard. After the fifth time Sima lost her way in the great castle, Merida taught Sima a trick she learned while sneaking through the castle after the torches were extinguished and everyone slept.  

           “Isn’t that dangerous?” Sima had asked, frowning.

           “It wouldn’t be fun if it wasn’t,” Merida replied, face solemn. The handmaiden stared blankly at the princess, unsure of whether the princess was joking or not.  Merida laughed then and it warmed the room just as much as the fire did.  “Sensible people like you wouldn’t sneak out at night, I know.  But just in case you ever need to, this is a handy trick I taught my brothers.  Count your steps from specific doors or furniture that you know you’ll knock over.  Repeat it as often as you can. Forget that everything looks the same.  Just count the steps and you’ll be fine.”

           Sima liked that about the princess.  Merida never once got angry when Sima was late or blamed the handmaiden for getting lost.  The first time it happened, Merida only laughed and declared it was a splendid idea to explore the castle.  Off Sima, Merida and the three young princes went--through long halls, cold rooms with unused beds or old cabinets, dusty attics filled with curious objects and scurrying mice.  It was the first time Sima felt like smiling after she left Clan MacGuffin.

           Left on the third door with the bent latch.  Right at a small chest scuffed with the king’s unmistakable peg leg.  Two doors past the Queen’s tapestry room with the elegant torches.

           Sima spotted Lady Helen Macintosh, sister to the young Lord Macintosh, with her two companions exiting the Queen’s tapestry room in a flutter of silks and perfume.  Behind them, Sima could hear Lady Ailis and the Lady Macintosh conversing with the Queen.  The ladies of Clan Macintosh were all beautiful, but none could compare to Helen.  She had hair so dark it shone with a blue sheen and her eyes were a light gray that almost seemed purple in certain lights.  Sima realized they must have just finished their stitching for the day.  The ladies were clutching at handkerchiefs with delicate embroidery and comparing their work to one another.  Helen’s work was superior by far.  Sima heard from the Macintosh servants that Helen was as talented in needlework, dancing and playing the lyre as she was beautiful.

           “I think I’ll wear it with my blue dress for the dinner,” giggled one of the ladies. “Robert said they’d be back from the hunt tonight.”

           “Robert of Lys,” sighed the other.  “I envy the ladies from Clan MacDowell for having such a handsome lad in their war-band.”

            “Don’t let Lady Ailis hear you say that,” warned another. “You know how she feels about—“

            “Lady Ailis is a grumpy widow who’s bitter that we get to have all the fun,” declared the first. “I like Robert and I’m sure he’ll like me.”

            “Ladies,” Helen admonished. She was tall for her age, with a commanding presence much like the Princess Merida. But whereas Merida was straightforward and brash, Helen was soothing and gentle. “Lady Ailis simply has doubts about Robert. He is a bit young to be leading a company, don’t you think?”

           The ladies giggled amongst themselves. “Don’t let Helen dissuade you,” said the second lady.  “We know Helen has her sights on _older_ men.  Perhaps the Roman has attracted your eye, cousin?”

           “He’s a Roman,” Helen said simply.  She smiled and nodded at Sima as Sima passed.

           Sima blushed a bright red and bowed deeply.  As soon as they turned the corner, Sima knocked at the princess’s door.  There was a muffled shout of welcome and she opened the latch.  What she saw inside nearly made her drop the tray.

           Sima had once seen a traveling painter’s palette of colors.  The princess’s room resembled the palette.  Explosions of color were piled haphazardly on the floor, on the bed, on the window seat and one dangerously close to the small hearth.  Merida stood in the middle, holding a dark gown to her chest.  Sima realized abruptly that the colors were the princess’s gowns.  She hardly recognized them.  Merida preferred two or three comfortable outfits of plain, sturdy material that allowed the princess to ride or practice archery.  She hardly wore anything else, although this didn’t stop the ladies from other clans from giving her gowns.  Any dress more ornate than those with simple stitchings were banished to the depths of her wardrobe.  

           “I was starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost again,” Merida said, smiling at Sima.  Then her brow furrowed,  “Or was it those Macintosh warriors?”  

           “You needn't have shamed them, milady," Sima said, eyes averted. "They were only boys at practice in the yard."

           "Aye, you have the right of it," Merida responded tartly. "They were boys at play in the yard. But anyone with a practice sword who takes to harassing my handmaiden deserve the thrashing I give them." Sima remembered vividly the young warriors from Clan Macintosh.  They were handsome lads only a little younger than Osgar Macintosh and recently joined Lord Macintosh's war-band.  They had drunk too much spirits and hadn't kept their hands or their jests to themselves when Sima passed.  Their laughter had turned to humiliation after the princess beat them soundly, however.

           "The Queen was furious with you," Sima demurred.

           "That was just a side benefit," Merida responded, distracted. "What's the food for?"

           “The Queen excused you from dinner tonight,” Sima said, smiling shyly at the princess.  She knew it was the princess’s custom to eat her meals privately or with her brothers if her parents were attending to royal guests. Sima much preferred these meals.  Though the princes were often uncontrollably mischievous, they were well behaved when having dinner with their sister.  Merida bribed them with stories of her adventures and the young boys often sat spellbound at their sister’s adventures.  It was bittersweet watching the young boys look at their sister with wide, impressed eyes.  It reminded her of her younger siblings.

           “Did she?” Merida asked, distractedly picking up another gown she’d dropped on the floor. “Och, I’m not sure what to wear.  Sima, be a good lass and help me pick a dress.”

           “Milady?” Sima asked, confused.

           "I think I'll wear this one, after all," Merida said, holding out the dark gown.  Her light blue eyes were distracted as she swept back one stray red curl from her face.  “Do you like it?"

           Sima placed the tray of food on a table and walked towards the princess. She picked up discarded gowns as she went, wincing at all the washing she would have to do. It seemed as if all the princess’s clothes were on the floor save for the dark green cloak she’d left hanging by the dresser.  Up close, the gown proved to be a red so dark it seemed nearly brown with ornate, burnished golden stitching across the tight bodice, a square cut neckline, and loose short sleeves. "It's lovely, milady," Sima said.  "But what are you wearing it for?"

           "To the dinner, silly," Merida said, laughing.

           Sima stared.   Sima wasn't sure if Merida was jesting with her again.  The princess did that often.  She would smile and joke as if she and Sima were simply friends.  But Sima never forgot her place.  She wouldn't. Not after Clan MacGuffin.

           “I’ve gone to the dinners every night this week, haven’t I?” Merida said defensively.

           “Yes, milady,” Sima responded though even she could hear the incredulity in her words.  True, the princess had gone to the dinners every night.  But, Sima attributed that to a healthy fear of the Queen’s wrath.  The princes were famous throughout the castle for giving Maudie trouble when she tried to prepare them for feasts; Merida was legendary for giving both Sima _and_ Maudie trouble when they tried to prepare her for feasts or other social functions.

           “I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” Maudie had told Sima once, huffing and puffing as they climbed the third tower in the castle in search of the wayward princess.  “After her betrothal feast last year, the princess was… Well, she wasn’t exactly happy about attending feasts but she came willingly.”

           “Perhaps something’s troubling her?” Sima asked.  She blew a strand of her brown hair from her face.  It didn’t help.  Sweat trickled down her brows and between her shoulders. “Perhaps… perhaps she doesn’t like my service? If you say she gave you no trouble before, but she’s always given me trouble…”

           “No, lass,” Maudie shook her head firmly.  They reached the landing finally and the older woman took a moment to catch her breath.  When she straightened up, her smile was warm and sympathetic. “The princess is not like that at all.  If she doesn’t like you, she’ll tell you straight.  This is something different.”

           “Ah, is the dress not too formal then?” Sima asked once she realized that the princess wasn’t jesting.

           “Aye, but I haven’t worn this dress in a while.  My father always compliments me on it,” Merida said, frowning and peering at the dress.  She nodded once, sharply before marching towards her bureau.  “Hunt for the slippers of this gown, would you? I think I tossed them in one of the chests by the window.  I’ll go look for the earrings.”

           "Yes, milady," Sima said. She placed the discarded gowns on the princess's bed and methodically began searching the chests.  She could hear Merida moving about getting ready for dinner. This was another novel experience for Sima. Usually, the princess required all of Sima's attention when she was getting ready for formal occasions.

           The handmaiden's mind whirred as she considered the princess's odd behavior.  In the past week, it had become easier to ready the princess for the dinners.  She was there in her rooms when Sima had the bath ready; she didn’t try to distract Sima with one of her wild stories; she didn’t grumble at the gowns Sima laid out.  She even went so far as to show a preference for one gown or the other.  Sima had been far too relieved over the change in attitude to question it.  But to actually volunteer to be at a dinner she didn’t need to be at and picking her own gown?

           Sima found the slippers for the gown in the third chest. When the handmaid turned around, Merida had already washed her face and slipped on the dress. As the princess slipped on the shoes and put on her earrings, Sima fastened the gown.  Merida gave herself a long, lingering look in her mirror and turned to the handmaiden.

           “How do I look?” she asked.  Sima tried not to let her surprise show in her face again.  Sima had been asked that question many times before by ladies from Clan MacGuffin.  Sometimes she’d have to answer diplomatically.  With Merida, she never needed to.  But Merida had also never asked.  Until now.

           “Very beautiful, milady,” Sima replied truthfully.  The color of the gown brought out the glow in Merida’s skin.  With her hair swept back, Merida was free to wear golden earrings that framed her long neck and brushed her shoulders. Helen Macintosh was famous for her dark, haunting beauty, but Merida’s beauty was of the sunrise—arresting and vibrant.

           “Thank you, Sima,” Merida said.  “I know I never seem to appreciate all that you do for me, but…” The princess grimaced, a more familiar expression on a face that had become intimidatingly elegant.

           Sima paused.  What could she say to that? Very few of the ladies from Clan MacGuffin spared Sima a second glance let alone expressed their gratitude.  It wasn’t that they were cold or severe; they simply took for granted that Sima was a servant and it was her place to help them.  The princess of DunBroch was different in so very many ways.  Sima said finally, “It’s my duty, milady.”

           “I know,” Merida sighed.  She seemed disappointed.  “But thank you anyway.  Will you bring the green cloak by the dresser down?”

           “Are you feeling cold, milady?” Sima asked as she turned to the dresser.

           “I’m planning on taking a walk after dinner and I wanted to keep the cloak with me,” Merida replied.  The princess had been taking a lot of walks, Sima realized.  Since the arrival of the guests, she’d go out for short walks armed with her bow and arrows and sword. Though she usually complained stridently when she was forbidden from riding Angus, the princess would come back from her walks flushed and pleased with a grin on her lips.

           “Have you found new places to explore nearby?” Sima asked diffidently as she brought the cloak down.

           “You could say that,” Merida said.  When Sima turned, she could see that the princess had a small, secret smile on her lips.  It reminded Sima of the smile Merida would have when she’d been doing things the Queen didn’t exactly approve of.  Sima felt her pulse leap at that smile and her mind automatically began wondering at her lady’s latest transgression.

           But she couldn’t think of any.

           In the evenings, Merida would come to dinner with fewer complaints and stayed for the entire duration rather than just the meal. At first, Sima thought it was because of Lady Ailis’s presence. Merida had spoken warmly of her great aunt and gravitated towards her at the table. But then, the princess even spoke civilly to the ladies from Clan Macintosh and Sima heard the princess complain of them often enough.  Even more strangely, Merida spoke a few times with the Roman General who answered with pleasant politeness. Sima thought the two of them disliked each other.  But at dinner, Merida spoke warmly to him.

           There was nothing in the princess’s behavior that indicated anything unusual.  In fact, the Queen was very pleased with Merida’s behavior as of late and openly expressed her hope that it would continue when their Viking visitors arrived soon.  Sima tried to quell her uneasiness at the reminder.  When she’d expressed alarm at the news to Maudie, Maudie had been quick to assure her that these Vikings had never sailed against the Highlands and that one of their number had been the Queen’s rescuer and savior once.  Still…

           As Sima absently smoothed the cloak, she felt something hard bump against her fingers.  The handmaiden blinked and focused on garment in her hand.  Sima had never seen it before.  It was made of a warm, thick material and embroidered with hunting eagles, wolves, and snakes.  “Is… is this a dagger, milady?” Sima asked, shocked as her fingers found a hidden pocket and drew forth a sheathed dagger.

           Merida blushed. “Ah, yes,” she said, giving Sima an embarrassed grin that instantly made many servants forgive her for her mishaps.  “Forgot I left it there. You can leave it out tonight.”

           “Who is this cloak from, milady?” Sima asked as she fastened the cloak around the princess. “I’ve never seen the like before.  Is it foreign-made?”

           Merida hesitated.  Sima glanced up at the princess’s face.  If she hadn’t been so close, she’d never have spotted the faintest blush on the princess’s cheeks.  “I… I believe it’s from Rome,” Merida replied.

 


	9. The Bear King and the Diplomat Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stoick the Vast negotiates diplomacy with a king he's never liked and a queen he's always been intimidated by.

The castle was as Stoick remembered it, and he was surprised that he remembered.  Stoick supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised.  The Highlands was full of memories of his late wife.  Even now, almost 15 years after her passing, memories of her still lingered and sometimes sharpened to a knife-like intensity. When he first met Gobber so many years ago, his best friend had told him laughingly that Valhallarama could hurt him in ways no one else could.  Gobber was right, though not in the way he expected.

The longship sailed steadily onwards and he spared a moment to glance at his son—still so young despite that he was almost a man grown.  Hiccup huffed at Slowbottom who shouted orders at him.  Stoick envied the easy way the sailor had with his own son.  Stoick had to work twice as hard to have a proper conversation.  Nowadays, Hiccup preferred to keep to himself and when Stoick could corner him, the talks never ended the way Stoick imagined it would.  It didn’t always used to be like that.  There was a time when a little, wide-eyed boy loved nothing more than to chatter to his father all his hopes and dreams.  But that was before.

Stoick sighed and look away.  There was much he wanted teach and do with his son.  But there always seemed to be something in the way—feeding the villagers; fighting dragons; settling disputes; training dragons; and now, open war. Despite that his son had gained more responsibility and had a better relationship with the village, Stoick didn’t know if Hiccup really understood what it meant to be lead.  He didn’t know if his son could shoulder the burden of so many lives depending on his actions.

Sailors rowed, Slowbottom tacked the sail and called or cursed them in turn.  Hiccup’s hand was steady on the wheel but the Viking chief caught his son staring at the castle more than once.  Stoick grimaced.  Hiccup needed to keep his eyes ahead.  Still, this one time he could forgive the boy his lapse in attention.  The castle of DunBroch rose in the distance before them.

The castle, ancestral seat of the lords of the clan of DunBroch, sat on the tallest cliff overlooking a deep blue loch ringed by tall mountains. The castle’s nine towers jutted up into the sky and its banners rose higher still.  The ancient stones of the structure, whispered to have been woven with protective spells by witches, caught the glow of the rising sun.  It looked an impressive feat of strength and ingenuity by the Highlanders and yet as natural and as old as the mountains and the loch.  Stoick hadn’t seen its like elsewhere.

Sleek longships, large trading galleys and tiny fishing boats crossed the loch and gave their own a wide berth. Still, there were a curious, daring few, usually longships filled with scowling faces and drawn bows, that came close.  It rankled Stoick’s pride that they would need an escort into DunBroch territory.  They were Vikings! People ran in fear of them.  They did not need to hide behind the skirts of some Highland escort.  And damn Fergus anyway for not coming himself. But what hurt most was how sensible the idea of an escort was.  The Highland longship captained by Kincaid’s drew close with the _snekjja_.  Other ships couldn’t attack without also attacking Fergus’s own longship and none would dare attack the king’s own.

Stoick ground his teeth.

“Trade ships making their rounds up and down the coast,” Slowbottom told Hiccup and nodded towards the three masted galley that moved ponderously along the loch. It flew an orange and white striped sail and was crewed by forty men at least who spoke in a language Stoick didn't recognize.

“Aye, even some so far north and east as Iceland and as far south and west as Rome,” interjected Kincaid who’d walked close by.  He directed Hiccup to steer them to a large port near the base of the castle’s cliff where a good number of longships and galleys were docked. Beyond the small thicket of masts and sails, Stoick could see a collection of wooden buildings covering the hillsides and a road snaking through the buildings and disappearing into the tall trees.  “Oi, watch where you’re going!” Kincaid bellowed in Gaelic at his crew.  A rogue wind sent the Highland longship swerving dangerously close to the Viking _snekjja_.  Hiccup, who had caught the rogue wind despite his preoccupation with the castle, quickly corrected the wheel to compensate for the Highland longship.  “Quick hands, lad,” Kincaid said after he had finished cursing his own sailors. “You’ll make a fine sailor.”

“If he pays attention,” Slowbottom scowled.  Hiccup, Slowbottom and Kincaid fell into an easy banter that combined Gaelic, their own tongue and hand gestures (sometimes rude from Slowbottom) that set Kincaid and Hiccup laughing.  Stoick paid attention with half an ear as Slowbottom pointed to different ship designs from the familiar Highland river longships to the cumbersome trading galleys of southern merchants, swollen with exotic goods, to the fleet skiffs of the local fisherfolk. Stoick surveyed it all with a critical, dispassionate eye and couldn’t help but think, _Good plunder_. But he beat the thought aside. Stoick had been a youth when he’d done his last raid with his father.  These people were to be their trading partners.  Their Queen was Valhallarama’s friend.

Up close, the port was more extensive than Stoick remembered.  In his visit ten years past, the port had been weathered but strong and smooth and could have docked ten longships in a tight space.  Now, the port easily docked half a dozen longships and a handful of trading galleys.  Sailors scurried aboard carrying crates of goods, nets of cod, salmon and crab, and sacks of grain and fruit. Beyond was a bustling market with vendors and shop owners calling, talking, haggling, bartering and advertising their wares. Despite himself, Stoick’s pulse quickened at the sight.  Finally. Here, Stoick knew they could find someone to trade with.  Someone who wouldn’t be ruled by fear of the Berserkers.

The Highland ship docked first and unloaded their crew of soldiers.  Stoick was only dimly aware of Slowbottom directing the _snekjja’s_ docking.  He saw Slowbottom let the sails loose; a sailor dropping anchor; and another tying the longship to the dock and helping the gangplank descend.  Normally, the chief was in the thick of things.  He wasn’t the type of leader who let his men do all the work.  His father had always taught him that a true chief was the one who worked alongside his people.  But this time, this time Stoick needed to concentrate on the task at hand.  This wasn’t another Viking tribe.  This wasn’t even an ally’s home.

These people were enemies to all Vikings.  The Hooligans were the only exception and only for one very specific reason.

“Hiccup, come here,” Stoick called.  The boy came to his side, already having shed his handmade leather armor and wearing a cloak around his tunic and trousers instead.  Hiccup looked slightly anxious, but Stoick could see curiosity brimming in his green eyes as he stared at the busy town by the loch and the group waiting to greet them.

At the dock, a row of warriors stood at attention wearing the distinctive DunBroch kilt and leather armor.  The sun glinted on the blades off spears, swords and skullcaps.  The banner of the Clan of DunBroch flapped in the brisk breeze coming from the loch.  Beyond the arrival party, crowds surged forward, curious to see the first Vikings to set foot in the Highlands since Valhallarama.  Stoick ignored them all for now.  There were only two people who really mattered in this throng.

Fergus the Bear King could be spotted from half a mile away.  Fergus stood head and shoulders taller and wider than most of his men, but for all that he moved with the grace and quickness of a man who’s fought and won countless battles.  He was quick to smile and just as quick to anger.  But more impressive than his formidable martial skills was his ability to lead.  Stoick hadn’t met a man who was half so well loved as Fergus was by his men.  Warriors, peasants, traders, crofters, and townspeople—it didn’t matter.  They all loved their king.  He was celebrated as the best ruler the Highlands had ever known and his reputation had only grown since then if rumors were to be believed.  Queen Elinor stood by his side, arm slipped through her husband.  She was just as tall as Stoick remembered, and though her husband’s hair was now liberally streaked with grey, Elinor seemed untouched by the passage of the years.  Her deep blue gown made a striking contrast with the leather armor of her husband and her soldiers and, though she was the smallest of the people in the docks, she was the one they were careful to watch the most.

“She’s the most dangerous person I’ve ever met,” Valhallarama had told Stoick once, laughing.  “Elinor will gut you with words and with half the time and effort it takes for a man to use his sword.”

“Is the village of the Berserkers like this?” Hiccup asked.  When Stoick blinked at him in confusion, Hiccup clarified, “Is it as big?”

“No,” Stoick shook his head.  His brow furrowed as he tried to recall his visit to the Isle of Hysteria where the Berserker Tribe was located.  The Berserkers were the largest of the Viking Tribes and the most prominent owing to their many conquests.  Every autumn and spring season, the tribe raided, plundered and destroyed.  Half the reason foreigners were so frightened of Vikings was because of the reputation of the Berserkers.  Perhaps because of their fearsome reputation, the Berserkers were able to settle Hysteria, the largest island in the Barbaric Archipelago.  It was the southernmost island with the most comfortable weather.  He’d seen for himself fields upon fields of wheat growing in disarray and forests with fruit-bearing trees hanging swollen and heavy in the summer.  Hysteria could sustain a far larger population than Berk ever could.  But for all their resources, or perhaps because of it, the Berserker Tribe didn’t like to form towns. Their houses were far apart and even their main settlement, where Osvald kept his hall, was more village than town.  “The Berserkers don’t like to gather together,” Stoick said. “Osvald says it’s because he doesn’t like to keep too many hot heads and drunken fights in one place. Their one village, Pandemonium, is bigger than Berk but more spread out.”

"I see," Hiccup said, returning his gaze back to the village.

Stoick eyed him warily, wondering what had caused Hiccup to ask the question. His son's expression was inscrutable.  Though Stoick had extracted the promise from Hiccup that he wouldn't cause any trouble, Stoick knew better than to expect that everything would turn out smoothly. Hiccup had always been different, for better or worse, but not everyone took well to him. Hiccup was like the hidden currents of wind in the sky—you never knew if it would give you the speed you wanted or send you plummeting a few hundred feet.

"Hiccup," Stoick said.  His mouth opened and close.  Words started in the back of his throat, struggling to give form to his concern, his _care_.

"Dad?" asked Hiccup, staring up at his father. He looked older, Stoick thought.  Weary and wary beyond his years.

A sudden impulse to reach out to his son surged in Stoick’s chest. At the same time, a thousand worries held him back.  Stoick sighed. "Just... Remember to be a Viking."

A blast of music from the strange Highland pipes drew Stoick's attention.  Kincaid descended and conferred in low tones with his king. Kincaid said something in their own tongue, but Stoick recognized his own name and the name of his tribe. Together, father and son descended the plank.

Up close, Fergus was not quite so large as Stoick remembered.  The Fergus in his memory was taller and larger than Stoick.  But that was over ten years ago.  The older man’s face was lined and though he still exceeded his men in height and size, he was just a shade shorter than Stoick. If Fergus was intimidated by Stoick’s size, he didn’t show it.  The king’s light blue eyes rested on Stoick coolly and he clasped Stoick’s arm in a tight grip.

“Stoick the Vast,” Fergus said.  “You’ve grown fatter since the last time we met.”  Some of the men behind him tittered, but Stoick wasn’t paying attention to any of them.  Instead, he gave Fergus a cool, appraising look.

“Fergus,” Stoick returned in kind.  He made sure to keep his voice slow and clear. His Gaelic was rusty but serviceable.  Beside him, he saw Hiccup glance at him in surprise. “You’ve grown shorter too.”

Fergus smirked and Stoick allowed an identical grin to spread across his face.  Years might have passed since their last meeting and circumstances might have changed, but this? This was familiar territory.

“Brazen as ever,” Fergus shook his head.  The Fergus of ten years ago would have been quick to take offense.  This Fergus merely smirked at him.  Though the years had carved shallow grooves in the man’s face, it had also gifted with him with the unmistakable assurance of a man comfortable with his authority and his crown.  “I can’t wait to knock some of that fat off you with a sword.”

“If you can reach me,” Stoick replied. Two could certainly play at that game.  He wasn’t a young chief eager to prove his worth to Highlanders, either.  

“Your Majesty, Chief Stoick,” said the woman beside the king and both men straightened.

“Er, yes, I’m sure you remember Elinor, Stoick?” Fergus coughed.

Stoick bowed to the Queen.  She was exactly as he remembered—lovely, quiet, elegant and powerful.  Sharp brown eyes assessed him and his men and he knew that she’d taken his measure and the measure of his situation far better than anyone else at the dock.  “Lady Queen,” Stoick said, voice gruff.  Elinor executed an elegant curtsy.  Elinor was far more serious than her husband, though she’d laughed often with his wife.  “May I present my son, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the III.”

Hiccup seemed to puff up (or tried to) as he stepped forward and bowed to the King and Queen. “Your Majesties,” Hiccup said in Gaelic that was far more practiced than Stoick’s.  His expression was a perfect picture of gravity that was marred only by the squeaking of his prosthetic limb. “It’s a great honor to meet you.”

“Not the little boy who would chase after will o’ the wisps and trolls with Merida!” barked out the king.  Hiccup's expression wilted at the king's proclamation. The king ignored him as he stared at Hiccup up and down, eyes lingering on Hiccup’s missing leg.  “What do they feed you up in Berk, lad? I used to carry you and Merida up on my shoulders all day long.”

"Oh, a premium diet of sheep and fish," Hiccup said with his chest thrust forward. "We Vikings like our meat and our ale! I've been drinking spirits since I was seven."

Stoick made a face at his son, who reddened, but kept his expression heroically serene despite the odd looks he was getting from Kincaid.  Fergus and Elinor exchanged glances before Elinor said, "We are very pleased to see you again, Hiccup. Do you remember us?"

"Ah, not really," Hiccup responded awkwardly. At the Queen's disappointed look, he added hastily, "Between all the hunting and fighting I do, it's hard to keep track of faces. I'm sure this visit will jog my memory."

"Aye," the Queen said, smile strained. "My daughter says she doesn't remember you either."

“At least you have not gotten fat like your dad, eh?” Fergus winked at Hiccup  “Let’s see if we can change that. Today you’ll be dining on boiled gigot of mutton, haggis, kilmeny kail, roast haunch of venison, rollmops, kedgeree, stovies and more!"

"That... sounds amazing," Hiccup said, blinking.  Stoick could tell Hiccup didn’t understand a word.  The only dish that sounded vaguely familiar was the roast haunch of venison—a rarity up in Berk.

“Our dishes must sound strange from one so far north,” Elinor said smoothly.  “But I’m sure that once you see it, you’ll recognize many familiar foods.”  

Fergus didn’t let Hiccup’s hesitance bother him.  “Nothing helps getting to know old friends better than a delicious meal.  Right, off we go then.  Elinor, dear, shall we?”

Elinor nodded abruptly and Stoick realized she’d been staring at Hiccup, mouth pursed in puzzlement.  “The castle’s some distance away.  We’ve brought horses and carts but perhaps your men would like to walk?” the Queen asked.  Her gaze went to the sailors who had descended after Stoick.

“We’ll ride with you,” Stoick said firmly.  “If you’d leave behind the carts for my men, we can begin unloading our ship.”  He glanced behind him.  At his nod, several dispersed to remove their cargo.

“Of course,” Elinor nodded.  “We will leave an escort to lead the men up to the castle.  The feast will be ready by the time your men arrive.”

_More armed guards than escorts_ , thought Stoick grimly.  Still, he nodded politely and the royal couple proceeded to a collection of horses waiting at the edge of the dock.  Stoick took a moment to speak to Slowbottom about the arrangements.  The crusty old sailor nodded in agreement and assured Stoick that he’d handle the transportation of their goods and crew to the castle.

“It’s not my first trip to the Highlands, you know,” Slowbottom said dryly. “I’ll take care of this lot.  Why don’t you bring some of the lads with you? I know many of ‘em’s never seen a castle before.”

Stoick considered Slowbottom’s suggestion.  His expedition had a crew of two dozen warriors—plenty of men to put up a decent fight in open water but not enough to bloody Fergus’s nose if it should come to a fight.  Still, if Fergus wanted them dead, he’d have said so to their face and followed it with a sharp sword. He didn’t need a large escort. “Not a bad idea.  Saltnose, Crablegs, Vex, Raventongue, Halfhand, you’re with me.  The rest of you, follow Slowbottom’s orders.  We’ll see you at sunset.”

The lads followed him to the royal couple astride their horses.  Hiccup held the reins of one horse that was dancing away from his touch.  Stoick could hear the frustration in Hiccup’s voice as he tried coaxing the beast near him, but the beast wouldn’t budge.  Its eyes rolled to the back of its side as Hiccup managed to put a foot on a stirrup.  The horse backed away again and Hiccup was forced to hop after it on one foot. Dragon tamer, his son might be, but horse rider? Not so much.

Stoick’s own mount liked him little better but he gave it the look that sent lesser dragons scampering away.  He clambered aboard the beast, which grunted unhappily at its rider.  The other Vikings fared worse, although their mounts were not as skittish as Hiccup’s own. Hiccup was the last to get up on his horse, face flushed and sweating from the exertion and the embarrassment.

The hoofbeats of their horses rose to a din as they clattered through the town.  The king’s men cleared the way and the crowds parted easily.  Stoick caught more than a few hostile faces, but saw even more that were simply curious.

He had never seen a settlement so densely populated or so orderly.  The dock was adjacent to a large open square market filled with vendors in ramshackle stalls, rough-hewn tables and large wagons loaded with fresh produce.  Crofters, townspeople, warriors and sailors from diverse ports walked about examining goods or haggling with vendors. He spied several travelers who wore the strange garb of the Romans and a handful of visitors who wore the long, flowing robes of merchants in the distant south.  

“The town is larger than I expected,” Stoick remarked loudly.  Beside him, Hiccup looked up periodically to gaze at the town but otherwise kept his eye fixed on his horse.  He bounced up and down uncomfortably in his saddle.  When Stoick glanced behind, he saw his sailors fare little better though their gazes lingered on the stalls filled with fresh baked bread, skewers of toasted cheese and meat, and apples.  

“It’s grown since you last came,” Fergus said. His voice was matter-of-fact, but the tilt of his chin indicated his pride.  “This is the largest port in the north.  Most of the merchants traveling through the continent make this their last stop before heading back south.”

“You must meet so many different people here,” Hiccup said, awe in his voice.  He had clamped his legs tightly around the horse's middle and dug his hands through the horse's mane.  The horse stamped its feet and bit Hiccup's leg. "Ouch! Oh come on!" he hissed underneath his breath.

“Not many but more than a few from lands you’ve only dreamed of,” Elinor said.  When she turned round, she gifted Hiccup with a faint smile.  “You’ll find a number of minstrels and _skalds_ ready to sing you tales tonight.”

“ _Skalds_ come here too?” Hiccup asked, surprised.  His horse jerked from underneath him and the boy swayed dangerously on top of the horse. After a minute, the horse whickered and continued following the procession. “I can’t even remember the last time a _skald_ came to Berk.”

“The dragons keep the _skalds_ away,” Stoick coughed and gave his son a significant look. Hiccup reddened and looked down.  It wouldn’t do to sound beggarly in front of the Highlanders. “I doubt any of the other tribes have seen a _skald_ in seasons.”  

The procession passed the outskirts of the town.  Here and there, a stray sheep or pig wandered past.  Long horned cows chewed grass and stared curiously at the party as they rode past. Stoick’s own mount plodded steadily onward, though Stoick was sure to keep a heavy hand on the horse’s neck.

“Dragons still giving you trouble, Stoick?” asked Fergus curiously.  He slowed his horse to ride a little closer to the Viking chief now that the road had widened.  “Traders are starting to trickle back in from the north.”

“Not as much as before,” Stoick said, forcing a smile on his face.  “We’ve excellent dragon fighters.  Hiccup came first in dragon training academy.” This time it was Hiccup’s turn to shoot his father a look.  Stoick continued blithely, “He’s the best dragon fighter Berk has seen in generations.  He’s known as the dragon conqueror amongst Vikings.”

“That’s quite the title,” Kincaid said, brow raised.  He had been riding behind the Vikings, and had only just come up.  He gave Hiccup a speculative, assessing look as if he’d never quite seen him before.  “I fought a dragon once before and nearly lost my head.”

“Aye, I remember,” said Fergus.  His light blue eyes gazed into the dark woods they were rapidly approaching.  “Long, spindly body, great big wings, chopped off half the trees in a glen.”

“A timberjack!” Hiccup said, sitting up.  He said it so loudly he startled the other Vikings who recognized the word and gazed warily about them. “Where did you find one?”  Stoick coughed again and Hiccup added hastily, “Because if you have any problems, you know I can help out. There’s... nothing Vikings like better than fighting dragons.”

“I’d like to see that,” Fergus said, grinning. Kincaid echoed the sentiment and the warriors around them chuckled.  Hiccup flushed and Stoick felt a moment’s alarm at the possibility of Hiccup “fighting” a timberjack in front of the King and Queen.

“That’s a generous offer,” said Elinor firmly.  “But we’ve not had reports of timberjacks since last spring.  My husband will have to content himself with tales of Hiccup’s bravery.”

“Aye, there are many,” Stoick added quickly.  The chief ignored Hiccup’s scowl.  “Tonight, we’ll tell you about how Hiccup killed dragon queen nesting near our village all by himself.”

The King, Queen and even Kincaid shot Hiccup a look, brow raised.  Hiccup’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly.  Stoick nodded encouragingly at his son.  This was perfect.  Stories of Hiccup’s adventures “fighting” dragons would keep the focus on his son and less on the state of Berk.  The King and Queen liked Hiccup well enough, Stoick could see that.  If he could foster that good will, it would make the talks of trade later that much easier.  

“It was intense,” Hiccup managed and looked down.

Kincaid coughed and turned to ask a nearby warrior a question.  The King and Queen exchanged a look. The Queen responded with a delicate, “How... interesting.”  

Stoick held back a groan.

 

Thank the gods for the Queen.  On the trip to the castle, Hiccup deftly avoided further questions about his dragon-fighting prowess.  That left Stoick floundering in conversation with the King whom he hardly got along politely with even in his best days.  Valhallarama and Elinor had done all the talking in the trips past.  Forcing himself to speak more than five words at once to Fergus proved trying. He’d nearly started an argument with the King twice and only resolved one dispute by a noisy race towards the castle once they cleared the woods.  Stoick had forgotten how loud and abrasive Fergus could be.  He grated on the Viking chief’s nerves like no one else.

Queen Elinor kept the conversation easy and polite.  She asked questions about Berk (which Stoick answered very vaguely) and told stories about the visitors they received and the changes in the Highlands since Stoick had last been there.  When Stoick tried to urge Hiccup to speak more of his (highly modified) adventures fighting dragons, Hiccup asked questions about the castle, about the clans and about the town.  

Stoick was grateful for the horns of mead and ale waiting for them in the antechamber.  Talking with Elinor was like trying to dodge glaciers in a fog-filled ocean; talking with Fergus was like trying to keep standing on a particularly slippery glacier.  He had to mind either the tiller or his footing or he’d be sliding head first into icy waters.  Stoick took great gulps of ale and let the flavor wash over him, strong and intense. Around him, his men sighed in pleasure.  They had kept up a quiet, tense conversation up to the castle.  Some knew few words in Gaelic but preferred to keep to themselves.  It was just as well. If he had a hard enough time keeping himself from arguing with the King, he couldn’t imagine keeping his own men from arguing with any of the warriors from DunBroch.

“Next thing we know, she’s climbed the Queen’s Tooth!” Kincaid told Hiccup.  The older man had settled himself in a comfortable chair close to the hearth.  “We crane our heads up and there she was—eyes and hair too big for her and a smile like a wee devil.”

Hiccup seemed amused.  “She was only eight years old?” he asked, intrigued. He shifted in his seat and his prosthetic limb thudded softly against the bear rug underneath his chair.

“A tiny eight year old!” Kincaid laughed. “And the bravest, bonniest lass you’ll ever find.”   He nursed his drinking horn, a large, ornate cup made from bone and decorated with a band of dancing bears near the rim.  

“Merida has a way of finding herself in places she’s not meant to,” Fergus chuckled.  As the king, he had the pride of place.  He was seated in a handsome chair closest to the fire, though the day was too warm for Stoick’s tastes.  The King also had a drinking horn, but he munched noisily on a fragrant apple from a fruit platter in the center table.  He nudged the platter toward Stoick’s men and tossed a few to the DunBroch warriors settled in various places around the room.  

“Aye, Hiccup too,” Stoick said suddenly and he blinked at the truth in his words.  He’d forgotten how much the princess and Hiccup had gotten along.  “How is your daughter? And your three new lads?”

“Merida’s well,” the Queen said, though she sat up as if suddenly remembering something.  “I should check to make sure she’s not kept late for the meal.  She, err, loves practicing the lyre.” The King stifled a snicker and she fixed him with a stern glare.  “I’ll expect everyone to be ready for the meal.”

An awkward silence descended after the Queen left. Stoick stared at Fergus and realized with a sinking feeling that their safety net was gone.  Fergus seemed to realize the same thing. Stoick coughed and drank from his horn, determined to let Fergus lead. He couldn’t be blamed for a mishap if he let Fergus lead.

“So, Hiccup, their best dragon slayer, eh?” Fergus asked, forced joviality in his tone. “You must be better at wielding an axe than your father ever was.”

Kincaid snorted into his drink. Before Hiccup could respond, Stoick retorted sharply, “Maybe not as good as Hiccup, but I’m still the better fighter. I’ve still got all my limbs!”  He gave Fergus’s wooden leg a pointed glance.  

Hiccup’s exasperated cough was lost in Fergus’s bellow, “I LOST MY LEG IN A FIGHT WITH THE DEMON BEAR MOR’DU!”  

The Viking warriors started up at Fergus’s shout.  Many glanced uncertainly at Stoick.  Stoick only rolled his eyes.  “Oi, this story again.  I’ve heard it so many times,” Stoick leaned back into his chair.  “I’ve killed hundreds of dragons since you fought Mor’du.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Fergus snapped.  The King seemed to swell like an enraged thunderdrum.  “It’s a _demon_ bear! You try fighting a demon bear and see if it’s easier than fighting a dragon!”

  
  



	10. The Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a Viking meets a Princess but neither know it.

“Demon bears still don’t breathe fire!” came his father’s unmistakable shout from within the castle. Hiccup winced, appalled by his new "reputation.” He hoped no one would notice his absence. His father was distracted enough with the King and he really didn’t feel like defending his honor as the dragon conqueror. With his cloak over his tunic and trousers, Hiccup blended well enough with the myriad of people walking around the castle.

Emerging from the castle interior, Hiccup could still hear Stoick and Fergus’s load boasting, the roar of laughter from the men and the clanking of drinking horns and wine cups. For all Stoick’s warnings to have their wits about them, Hiccup could already see that the Vikings were well on their way to intoxication.

“Watch it, kitchen boy!” Hiccup sidestepped in time as a group of warriors stampeded by carrying wooden practice swords and shields. Some nursed cuts and bruises, others held their hand to their chest delicately, but all laughed and joked. “These men are thirsty! Is the meal ready yet?”

“Uhh, I—“ Hiccup looked around, but was saved from responding.

“You boys stay out of the kitchen!” Hiccup stepped aside again as a plump woman with her hair covered with a white cap walked past carrying a tray of herbs. “The meal will be served after I bring a tonic up to Prince Harris.”

“Poor lad. We can watch his brothers for you.”

"Certainly not! Hamish and Hubert need quiet time, not a food fight.”

The warriors' cries of innocence faded as they disappeared into the castle. Outside, the courtyard was alive with activity. Girls wearing homespun browns and grays carried baskets of herbs, vegetables and fruits inside. Young boys with wooden swords practiced on straw dummies while older youths dueled with blunted blades. Older men paced here and there in the yard, shouting encouragements or criticisms. A hammer belled throughout the courtyard and Hiccup spied the familiar glow of a forge.

“Best to stand away from the path, lad. Folks here’ll run you right over and never realize it.” The guard that stood at the side of the door scratched his nose and his partner nodded. Both men leaned against gleaming spears and skulls caps hung low over their foreheads.   “New to castle?”

Hiccup nodded, wondering if the man hadn’t seen him at all when the Vikings entered or if he was only making polite conversation. Each guard sported a matching half mustache that gave them both a permanently puzzled look. It was an odd choice of beard. Perhaps the gate guards weren’t the brightest of DunBroch’s warriors.

“Today’s not the best day,” the second guard yawned. “Between the Princess’s horse missing, the different delegations coming and going, and the construction going on, the castle’s gone half mad.”

“The Princess’s horse ain’t missing,” his partner frowned.

“It isn’t in its stable, is it?”

“Yes, but the Princess isn’t—“

The most beautiful girl Hiccup had ever seen swept through the door. “Has the horse been spotted yet?”

The guards snapped to attention instantly and offered her a bright, attentive smile. “Er, no, Milady. But we’ll let you know as soon we know. We’ll send a page right up. You’re at your lyre lessons, yes?”

“Yes, thank you,” the girl said, brows clouded in anxiety.   The bright Highland sunshine caught tints of blue in her jet-black hair and when she glanced around the courtyard, Hiccup realized with some astonishment that her eyes were the same violet as her dress. Hiccup couldn't help but gawk.

Realization flooded through Hiccup. Lyre lessons and a beauty beyond anything he’d ever seen. She was the princess! But somehow, he couldn’t see her dirtying her fingers let alone running through the woods and climbing trees as a child. This girl wasn’t mischievous or daring. She was elegant and intimidating.

“I just can’t imagine where she’s gone!” The Princess twisted delicate white fingers through her fine gown. “We still have to select her dress today, meet the MacGuffin messenger, see to the kitchen preparations for tonight's meal, review Viking customs, interview the new stable boy..."

The guards exchanged helpless looks.

"Never mind. I'll do it all myself if I have to." The Princess settled her shoulders and turned back to the castle. As she passed Hiccup, she called, “Page. Run to Lady Amelia, Leah and Daniela. Have them meet me at my chambers."

Before he could open his mouth to respond, the girl disappeared in the depths of the castle. The guard shrugged apologetically at him, “Sorry about that, lad. We’ll have a page take the message up. Go on and enjoy the castle. The west gate is less crowded and has the best views.”

“Thanks,” Hiccup flushed. He wasn’t certain how well his reputation as the dragon conqueror would flourish if everyone looked at him and saw “servant” instead of “hero.”

Hiccup followed a path that traversed the inner courtyard. Great horses nearly the size of gronckles poked curious heads out from an orderly row of stalls against the walls. He spotted an empty stall and wondered if that was where the Princess’s horse was kept.  

Hiccup looked back once he descended into the outer keep. The inventor inside him marveled at the scale and planning that conceived such a behemoth structure. Even now, he could hear the sharp thump of hammers into nails, the groans of carts’ wheels overburdened with large stones and the men’s singing as they worked. Hiccup spotted men reinforcing a wall, creating a new wing and laying out the foundations of a smaller building. DunBroch Castle was ten times larger than the Meade Hall and the outer wall enclosed an area roughly the size of Hooligan Village but it didn’t seem like the castle was finished growing.

Questions buzzed in Hiccup’s mind. What sort of upkeep did a castle need? How many people were needed to maintain it? What sort of rooms were there? Surely the rooms in the towers could be modified to fit a comfortable roost for dragons. How many people did a castle need, at minimum, to defend itself from invaders.

Hiccup stopped himself short at the thought. The trip to the Highlands was the first time in a very long while that he hadn’t been consumed by thoughts of war. He wanted to let himself appreciate the sheer beauty of the country and its castle without thinking of the battles ahead.

Through the western gate ahead, Hiccup spied mountains rising like cresting green, brown and blue waves while forests of tall oak, pine, birch, rowan and aspen eddied in the shadowed valleys and glens. The breeze rushing past was rich with the scent of water, leaves and the cold mountain air. For the first time in a long time, in months since his father forbid him from flying beyond Berk, Hiccup felt his breath quicken as the realization settled in his bones, as the Highland sunshine enveloped him, and as the breeze glided against his skin—a new land, a new people, a new discovery.

As Hiccup passed through the gate, a smile lifted the corners of his lips. Even his father’s expectations and the weight of their journey couldn’t dim this. He couldn’t wait to—

Something yanked his ankle and dragged him feet first into the air. Hiccup’s strangled cry cut off as he swung to the left, hit the wall, and then swung back into the center of the gate. “What the—? Hey!”

His loose tunic fell over his head and covered his eyes. He struggled to tuck it back underneath his trousers while his left hand scrabbled uselessly for purchase as he hit the wall again. Nothing. No grip. His cloak brushed the ground as he swung back to the middle of the gate.

Twisting his head, Hiccup tried to see if anyone was close by. The guard hadn’t lied. No one was around the western gate. Cheeks burning, Hiccup patted his boots but knew the gesture was fruitless. He’d left his dagger sheathed in his belt on the _snekjja_.

Panting, he hauled his body upwards. Muscles trembling, his fingers traced the intricate knots securing the rope around his ankle. The rope was too taut. It was already cutting off circulation to his right foot.

Expelling a breath, Hiccup let himself fall back and wished he hadn’t. The momentum swung him against the wall again. Minutes passed as Hiccup tried to calm his breathing and think of a way out. His tunic fell over his eyes again.

Huffing in exasperation, Hiccup tucked it back and followed the line of the rope with his eyes. The deep shadows of the gate and the slow, circular movement of the rope made him dizzy, but still he tried. If he could figure out how the trap was set, perhaps he could figure out a way to undo it. But how when he was trussed up?

Humiliation and frustration bubbled inside Hiccup. What kind of a person laid a trap on a castle gate, anyway? Had the guard played a trick on him? Fine dragon conqueror he was turning out to be. First the Princess thought he was a servant and now he was caught like a rabbit or a chicken.   Thunder rumbled in the distance. His shirt came loose again. Hiccup let out a long, slow breath. “Great. Just great.”

 

* * *

 

Hiccup didn’t know how much time passed. His shirt had fallen again and again, and eventually Hiccup had just given up. He was too preoccupied trying to figure out how get out. Moisture prickled along his bare skin and the air felt cool against his bared abdomen. He couldn’t see lightning or thunder, but that didn’t mean anything. A gentle rain or a driving storm would soak him either way. He considered screaming himself hoarse but couldn’t quite let go of his pride yet. Just imagining his father’s face when the DunBroch warriors revealed how they’d found the dragon conqueror dangling from the gate was enough to keep Hiccup silent.

Thunder rumbled again.

“Oh for Thor’s sake,” Hiccup muttered. “Just once, can’t I catch a break?”

The thunder paused abruptly and Hiccup realized that it wasn’t thunder at all. It was hoof beats.   Hiccup tensed, unsure how to react. If the soldiers saw him, if the King and Queen found out—

“Now there’s a catch you don’t see everyday, Angus.”

Hiccup steeled himself and pushed his shirt up slightly.

The world was transformed. Instead of the bright Highland sunshine of the morning, the landscape was bathed in the pale glow of a cloud-streaked sky. The mountains and the lake seemed soft and haunted in the storm light. Everything was bleached of color save for the figure sitting before him.

The owner of the voice shook back the hood of a deep green cloak revealing a heart shaped face. The first thing Hiccup noticed was the mane of curly, fiery red hair framing her face followed closely by the bright blue of her eyes. She looked vibrant against the deep black of her horse and Hiccup wondered vaguely if that was on purpose. The girl wasn’t laughing, not yet, but there was no mistaking the amusement in her curved lips.

The smile snapped Hiccup out of his stillness. “Before you judge me, I just want you to know I’m in the process of getting myself out.”

“Which part of the process?” The girl swept back the cloak draping her horse and dismounted. She circled him and Hiccup did his best to follow her progress. “The thinking about it part? Or are you still at wishing?”

“I’m at the successful plotting part,” Hiccup glared. There was something familiar about the girl’s voice. The way it carried through the air and the cadence in its tones reminded Hiccup of someone but he couldn’t place it.

“How long has that been going on?” The words were casual but Hiccup could read the playful irony in the arch of her brows. The girl took a few steps back and Hiccup could feel her gaze travel the length of his body. “An hour? Three?”

“Couldn’t have been more than 45 minutes,” he bit out, cheeks flaming. Movements jerky, he tucked his shirt back in.

“Don’t get excited,” the girl snorted. “I’m just looking.”

“Look for a ladder then! Or a knife!”

“Touchy, touchy. You’ve been up there at least an hour.” The girl laughed finally and it wasn’t as bad as Hiccup feared.   It wasn’t mocking or insulting. It was a laughter that invited others to join in, a laughter that spoke of true delight rather than condescension. It had been a long time since he’d heard laughter directed towards him rather than at him. “Hamish, Hubert and Harris are really getting too good at this. I’ll get you down in a moment.”

“That’s not really—” Hiccup began, then stopped. He really, _really_ didn’t want to spend any more time up here. The girl waited for him, the shadow of a smile in the corner of her lips. “Thank you,” he said humbly. “I’d appreciate it.”

The girl disappeared inside the castle gate. Thunder rumbled once more and the scent of rain drifted up to Hiccup’s nose. The horse whickered and lifted its head up to smell him. It sneezed.

The girl reappeared, muttering under her breath, “Who taught them those knots anyway? Mum’s gonna be furious we scared off the new stable boy and I know it’ll be _my fault_.”

“Problem?”

“Ah, just a minor setback.”

Her forced cheer made Hiccup warier than he already was. “How minor? Like keep me up here minor?”

“Oh, I’ll get you down. It’s just a matter of how fast I’ll do it.”

“Eh, I’m over the view anyway,” Hiccup shrugged, or tried to.

The girl doubled over laughing, “I like you. You’re much quicker than your face lets on.” Her words stung but her laughter soothed. The strange girl had a nice laugh. “All right then. Angus!”

The animal neighed, reluctant, before moving forward. It snorted in Hiccup’s face, nearly hit him in the head as it tossed its own, walked a pace, then stopped. If Hiccup stretched out his arms, his fingertips would brush the saddle.

The girl fiddled with something strapped to the side of her saddle. It was only when the girl stepped a few paces back, bow in one hand and arrow in the other, that alarm pulsed through Hiccup.

“Wait, wait,” Hiccup held out his hands. Suddenly, staying upside down didn’t seem that bad. “That’s your plan? You’re going to shoot me?”

“You’re not really my kind of target.” A smile flashed across her face before her eyes narrowed. She drew the arrow and took aim. “Don’t move.”

“I thought you were just going to pass me a knife!” Hiccup squawked. “Let’s talk about this some more! I’m sure there’s a ladder ar—”

The bow snapped and Hiccup slammed against the creature’s saddle. His arms wrapped around the animal’s neck tightly. Quick footsteps sounded next to him.

“You all right?”

Hiccup gasped for breath. Blood rushed down his body, his head spun from the impact and his legs felt watery and weak. Through the haze of pain, he noticed the girl produce a knife from somewhere in the folds of her cloak. He started and she held out a placating hand.

“It’s for the rope around your ankle.”

“I got it,” Hiccup wheezed. Reluctance at having her point anything sharp in his general person made him sit up far sooner than he’d have liked. “Thanks.”

The girl’s lips twitched, “Your hands are shaking. You’re more likely to stab your foot as cut the rope.”

“Just give me a few seconds,” he muttered. The animal shifted underneath him and for the first time, Hiccup could appreciate its size. Her beast was the biggest he’d seen yet—all glossy black but for the white star on its forehead and white socks around its hooves. It was nearly as big around as Toothless. The comparison sent a sharp stab of loneliness in his chest.

Hiccup slid off the horse with a lot less grace than he’d have liked. He held out a hand for the knife, “May I?”

Nodding, she placed the blade in his palm.

Hiccup knelt and worked on the noose around his ankle. As he tugged and sawed at the rope, he glanced upwards every so often. Right side up, Hiccup could see that the girl was about his age, though she wasn’t much taller than his shoulder. She wasn’t extraordinarily beautiful like the Princess, but there was something arresting about her that made it hard to look away.

“You’ve a frank gaze,” the girl said, brow raised.

Hiccup blushed but snapped back, “Don’t get excited. I’m just looking.”

“And a sharp tongue to match,” she laughed again. “But aren’t you a little too skinny for a stable boy?” Her hair was a little too long and big for a person, never mind a girl but she cut him off before he could respond. “Och, I’m late. Quick, give it over.”

“Ah, if you just give me a second—“ Hiccup sawed furiously at the rope.

“Not that. Your cloak!”

“What’s wrong with yours?” Hiccup’s gaze lingered at the deep green fabric.   Even in storm light he could make out the intricate stitching in the cloth. The rope gave way under his hand and he handed her back the knife.

“It’s mine,” she responded simply and tucked the knife inside her cloak. “I need to borrow yours to sneak into the castle without my mother noticing.”

“You—you live in the castle?" He figured her for a girl in the town with her horse and her bow and arrows.

“Aye,” she laughed a little. Her eyes swept over him speculatively. “You’re really not from around here, are you?”

“Uhh, you could say that." At the meaningful look she gave his cloak, Hiccup fumbled with the clasp, took it off and gave it to her. The girl put it around her shoulders and pulled the hood low.

“Perfect. I’ll give it back to you, I promise,” she said. “And I won’t tell anyone how I found you if you don’t tell anyone that I’m trying to sneak back into the castle.”

“Sounds fair.”

“So take Angus’s reins and walk straight back to the stables. They’ll think you found him and I can—“

“I found what—“

Voices from outside startled them both. Hoof beats and the whickering of horses drifted up the path. Motions quick, she dropped the reins in his hand. “Just act normal. I’ll explain everything when we get there.”

“Wait,” he said, angling his head back to her. “Is this... is this dangerous?”

He couldn’t make out her eyes since she’d pulled her hood so low, but he could make out the smile that sparked like dragonfire on her lips, “Oh, I hope so.”

 

* * *

 

The walk back to the stables was probably the third most awkward experience Hiccup had on his trip so far. The horse liked him about as much as his mount to the castle. The beast kept trying to dance away from him and only the girl’s soothing touch calmed it. Hiccup held the reins loosely in his left hand and tried not to let the bow slung next to the saddle bump against his shoulder. Every so often, he’d try to glance back. The girl would jab him painfully on the small of his back and he’d keep his face directed ahead. Once, he heard her sharp intake of breath as the guard at the gate to the inner keep hailed Hiccup.

“That’s odd,” she muttered. “You’d think the guard would know to tell the new stable boy where he ought to work.”

Hiccup winced. Oh right. He hadn’t cleared that up either. He turned around, “Actually, I’m not—”

“I told you not to talk,” she whispered harshly and jabbed his back.

“Your fingers are too pointy,” he hissed.

“I wouldn’t have to jab you if you just shut your trap,” she hissed back.

“That’s the Princess’s horse!” Hiccup and the girl both straightened. They were passing the practice yards where groups of boys about thirteen or fourteen still lingered. One elbowed his friend and pointed at them. The girl moved and suddenly Hiccup was aware of the warmth of her barely an inch from his back. It didn’t make a difference. More boys looked and the muttering grew louder. “It is the Princess’s horse. Hey! Where’s the—“

“Run!” she shouted. Hiccup’s brain failed him. Instead of stopping, he fell into step beside her, Angus’s reins still in his hand. Together, they streaked through the inner courtyard, dodging serving girls, warriors, stable boys and workmen. The girl seemed to know the inner keep like the back of her hand. She led them through sharp turns and hidden corners before eventually losing sight of everyone.

As soon as they were alone, Hiccup whirled on her, “You _stole_ the Princess’s horse?”

“I did not steal—“

“What do you call this then?”

The girl let out a short, wild laugh, “It was just a joy ride.”

“Oh gods,” Hiccup panted. “I’m aiding and abetting a criminal.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she snickered. Exertion made her cheeks flush and her eyes danced in the gloom of the storm light. “It was more of a joke than a crime. Besides, we’re already at the stables. We’re putting Angus right back where he belongs.”

Hiccup blinked, looking around. In their haste, he hadn’t even realized they slipped through a side entrance. The stables were warm, light and airy filled with the scent of hay, leather and what Hiccup was rapidly coming to recognize as the smell of horses. Some of the beasts were standing sleepily in their stalls but many stood empty.

“That was close,” Hiccup frowned at her back as she began unfastening Angus’s saddle. “What would have happened if we got caught?”

“Well, my mom would probably chain me to the castle and she’d have my dad kill you,” she said, distracted, before turning around and dumping the saddle in Hiccup’s arms. “Could you put that away for me?” She turned and began to lead the horse to the last stall at the end.

Hiccup sputtered, “Oh, that’s comforting. Did I nearly get killed just so that you could get out of a scolding from your mom?” His hands groped awkwardly at the saddle. It was smaller but heavier than Toothless's saddle with more dangling straps.

“You don’t know my mother,” the girl said, looking back at him. She paused and a wry smile flitted across her face. “Ever had a parent who’s larger than life, is considered perfect and respected by everyone, and you could just never live up to her expectations?”

Hiccup opened his mouth for a snarky retort before he fully comprehended her words. “Yeah,” he sighed glumly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Parent problems too?” she asked sympathetically. “You could put that saddle down, you know.” She jerked her head towards the back area of the stables.

“My dad is kind of... No, he’s literally larger than life,” Hiccup said, looking around the room. There was a small wooden pillar with rods jutting out horizontally. On the wall was a row of hooks that already carried thin strips of leather and metal hanging. When he glanced back at the girl, her face was turned towards him, attentive and concerned even though her hands were busy brushing down her horse.

It was a novel experience. He’d never had someone he needed to explain his situation to. Everyone in Berk knew each other and everyone who came to Berk knew who his father was and who he was (“Stoick’s little embarrassment” came Alvin’s moniker from the past). It was...nice to explain.

He licked his lips as he tried to order his thoughts. “I have some pretty big shoes to fill. I’m supposed to take over the... family business, I guess you could say. Be more like him. But it's not really working out so well." There were narrow shelves built into the wall and he tried putting the saddle there. He was so engrossed trying to stuff the saddle into the small space that he didn’t even notice the girl standing next to him.

“I hope your dad doesn’t work on the stables,” she laughed.

Hiccup smirked at the mental image of Stoick the Vast grooming a horse, “Well, no, he—”

“Did you mean to put that on the rack?” she interrupted once more.

“Uhh, yes,” Hiccup said, looking around. What bloody rack was she talking about? After a few moments, he noticed the girl staring at him with a bemused expression on her face.

“Here, let’s switch,” she said. “Why don’t you brush Angus and I’ll put the saddle away.” She held up an oval brush.

“It’s ok. I’ve got this,” Hiccup said. He was Gobber’s chief blacksmith apprentice. He created order out of Gobber’s chaos! He was not going to let weird Highlander architectural layout confound him. Besides, Angus was looking at him with marked suspicion and he really didn't feel like adding another horse bite to the one he had on his leg.

“No, it’s okay, really,” she said, shaking her head. “It just goes right over there. I can do it.” She began taking the saddle out of Hiccup’s hands.

“Wait, I—” Hiccup said, pulling the saddle back.

“Really, it’d be easier if I—”

They fumbled awkwardly, each trying to hold onto the saddle. Straps slipped out of Hiccup’s grasp. Her fingers brushed against his. A curl of red hair tickled his nose. They bumped heads. They paused and looked at each other. His heartbeat quickened. Hiccup froze, now close enough to notice every freckle decorating her face, and fleck of blue in her large eyes. She was warm and smelled like the outdoors—grass, air and wildflowers.

She straightened, a pretty blush on her cheeks, pushed the brush against Hiccup’s chest and took the saddle out of his arms. He watched her go, mouth parted in bewilderment.

“Where are you from exactly?” She hung the saddle on a wooden rod. Amazingly, it hung exactly in place even though the rod seemed far too small for it. “I’ve never seen anyone like you before. Your clothes are foreign, aren’t they?”

Hiccup coughed, passing the brush from one hand to the next, “Yeah, I’m not really from around here.” Suddenly, Hiccup didn’t want to tell her his identity though he’d tried before. He couldn’t explain it, but he didn’t want to tell her that he was a Viking. He didn’t want to have to act like the “dragon conqueror” of Berk in front of the first person in months he was able to have a sincere conversation.

She stared at him for a long moment, intrigued and looked him up and down. Hiccup shifted awkwardly, wincing at the sound of his prosthetic limb. “You look a bit familiar…” she murmured. There was a shout from outside and she started. “Och, can you finish brushing Angus for me? I really must go. My mom will be fuming by now.” She hiked up her mud-splattered dress to her shins and ran off through a door in the back.

His mouth opened and closed soundlessly at her abrupt departure. He turned to face Angus who blew a distrustful snort in his face.

“It was good to meet you,” came a shout from behind him.

Hiccup jumped, startled once again. Thor Almighty, how did the girl move about so quietly? He doubted even the twins were that good and they spent years sneaking around the village. He turned to see her watching him, a smile on her lips.

“You too!” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Will I... maybe I’ll see you around?” He winced, immediately regretting the comment. He sounded like an idiot.

Her lips quirked as if amused by a private joke. "Anything can happen,” she said before disappearing once again.

“Oh wait, what about my cl—” but the door slammed shut. Hiccup looked back at Angus, “What just happened...?”

“HEY!” This time, a deep male voice made him jump. A tall muscular man wearing a rough spun green tunic tucked into a kilt walked towards him. He carried a great saddle in his arms that made him totter. As he got close, Hiccup caught the distinctive scent of mead and realized it was intoxication that made the man clumsy, not the weight of the saddle. "What were you doing with the princess?” he slurred.

“The princess?”


	11. Second Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of drunken brawls and a proper introduction between a Viking and a Princess.

As swift and silent as shadows, Merida intoned in her mind, remembering Linus’s words of wisdom at hunting. Her old hunting teacher’s lessons were equally as useful out in the forest tracking game as it was sneaking about the great castle. With the unification of the clans, her home had only become more crowded in the past year. The lower levels were alive with the busy hum of cookstaff preparing the midday meal, the maids sweeping and dusting the floors and laying out fresh, fragrant rushes, the squires polishing their masters’ equipment in the armory, and the warriors practicing their swords in the yard. Anyone that caught her out here in her state of dress would know immediately that she hadn’t been where she was supposed to be (practicing her lyre in the music room).

The upper levels contained less people, but it was fraught with its own dangers. Certain servants could be bribed to keep the Merida’s secrets, but members of the DunBroch court would hesitate to lie to the Queen for the sake of one errant princess. She could not risk being caught. Merida dodged into an empty room when the bailiff, a humorless man with a large nose, walked past with the reeve. Soon after, she ducked behind a shadowy alcove as personal attendants walked by in groups of threes or fours followed by rushing pages.

By great luck, the wing where the royal family lived was quiet. Merida pushed open a mahogany door carved with the faint outlines of three miniature bears.

Inside, wooden swords, stuffed dolls and bits of chalk we're scattered all over a cozy playroom. The sunken floor in the middle was piled with the softest bear rugs. On a low table by the window was a large tablet filled accurate renderings of different parts of the castle. Merida traced some of the sketches and snickered. The drawings contained diagrams for escape routes or traps for unsuspecting castle guards or visitors.

Indignant shrieks and mischievous giggles pierced the soothing silence of the playroom. Merida opened the left door and smirked at the familiar scene before her.

"Put that soap down, Prince Hamish!" Maudie's familiar aggrieved tone rang throughout the washroom. She was sitting on a low stool in front of a copper tub filled to the brim with soap and water. Her apron and sleeves were soaked and her wimple sagged down to her scalp. "Settle down or you'll wake Harris!"

The boys paid her no mind. They splashed each other and took turns diving and surfacing with a big splash.

"Boys."

Hamish and Hubert stopped instantly. Identical, mischievous blue eyes peered over the rim of the tub and widened. Water sloshed over the side as the boys scrambled off.

"Ah ah," Merida wagged a finger at her brothers. “I promise I'll give you the apple later.”

Hamish and Hubert looked at each other. Hubert looked speculatively at the saddle bag Merida carried over her shoulder. Hamish frowned and held out a soapy hand.

Merida rolled her eyes, "And a story before bedtime, ya wee devils. But only if you promise to let Maudie wash you in peace."

The boys grinned. Hubert meekly submitted his head to Maudie's soaped hands. Hamish took a washcloth and started scrubbing his arms.

"Thank you, Princess," sighed Maudie, settling down into the small stool beside the tub. “But aren't you supposed to be downstairs with your parents?"

"Just checking on Harris before I go."

"You're already late," Maudie wiped her sweaty brow with the side of her arm. Hubert dunked his head and rose on the other side of the tub. Hamish took his place in front of Maudie. “Lady Helen was looking for you earlier. She was in a right state early this morning."

"You mean Lady Perfect actually looked flustered? Heavens forbid.” Merida rolled her eyes. "I'll see Harris now. See you later, Maudie."

Harris lay curled on his bed in the sleeping chamber. He was clutching a doll Fergus had given him years ago. It used to be a great favorite of Harris when he was younger. Merida suspected he was feeling far worse than he let on.

Careful not to jostle him, Merida perched on the edge of his bed and stroked his back. Harris flopped over to stare glumly at her. Merida laughed, "I know you're dying to get outside, but not until you're better. I told you to dry off after that swim in the stream!"

Harris sniffed.

"You're right. I would have done the same. But I'm bigger than you are and my temper would have dried me right off!"

Harris rolled his eyes.

"Oh don't give me that. You'll grow taller than me, sure, but it hasn't happened yet. But you know what will help you grow?" Merida fumbled in her saddle bag before bringing out the apple with a flourish.

The smile on Harris's face made the long trip to Loch Connell and the scolding she'd certainly get from Elinor worth it. Harris whistled.

"Aye, it's from that special tree shaped like a bird Mum told us about. It's to help you get better."

Harris sat up, hand outstretched.

"I'll give you yours now, but you must promise not to tell Hamish or Hubert. I’ll give theirs tonight.” At his fervent nod, Merida dropped the apple in his hand. Her youngest brother brought it to his nose and sniffed. “I better get going before Mum kills me.”

Harris dropped the apple and put his arms around his sister’s middle. Merida sighed and stroked his curls gently. “Believe me, I’d rather stay here with you. But a princess never neglects her guests.”

Harris shook his head against her stomach.

"I know, lad. It’s hard for you and me both.”

* * *

 

Merida heard the sounds of Sima straightening her bedsheets and winced. That was the second time in as many weeks she'd ignored her handmaiden's repeated requests to come back to her room on time. She closed the door as softly as she could manage and turned around with a smile on her face, "I'm sorry that I—what are you doing in my rooms?"

That came out far more rudely than was proper, but Merida couldn't help it. Helen was standing in her room holding one of Merida's gowns before a mirror. Osgar's sister was dressed in a lovely purple gown with her hair coiffed back in an elegant twist.

"Good morning, Princess. Or should I say, good afternoon." Helen curtsied for the exact proper length of time. Sima stood by the window. Her head was bowed and her lips were pressed into a small, tight line.

"Err, good afternoon.” Merida handed off her saddlebag to Sima who knew where to store it safely away from the prying fingers of the young princes. Helen watched them with pursed lips. Merida tried to keep from smiling. As annoying as it was to have someone intrude in her own private space, a space that she'd fought so hard to keep free from demanding mothers, messy brothers and noisy fathers, it was a rare pleasure to see Helen so flustered.

Osgar was easy to read. He smirked, he complimented, he blustered, he stomped off. His sister was almost the complete opposite. Helen was serene and steady no matter what she did or what was asked of her. She followed Elinor's instructions to the letter with an almost zealous fervor that was completely off putting.

"Will this gown be suitable for the Vikings?" Helen shook out the gown. It was a lovely, pale golden creation with tiny pink embroidered flowers. It was feminine and formal and not at all what Merida would have picked for herself.

"You picked out a gown for me?"

"I'm your lady-in-waiting. I choose your gowns, arrange your court appointments and fulfill any duty or responsibility in your absence."

_That wasn't my idea_ , Merida scowled inwardly. "It's my gown."

"We would have picked it out together but Your Highness was out." Helen's eyes lingered on the saddlebag Sima hung neatly in an open wardrobe before flicking back to Merida. “Riding? Is that why you’re wearing that…cloak?”

Merida winced, fingers tugging at the fastenings around her neck. She’d completely forgotten to give the stable boy his cloak back. “Sima, see that this is washed and stored, please.”

Sima took the cloak away and had the good sense not to ask questions or look surprised at the addition to Merida’s wardrobe.

“It might be better to throw it,” Helen eyed the cloak as Sima passed her. “It looks like a stable boy’s cloak.”

Merida barely refrained from glaring at Helen. “We can pick out the gown now."

"Queen Elinor wants you—“

"I'll pick out the gown now."

"As Your Highness wishes." Helen's lips compressed further as she hung the dress neatly in its place in another wardrobe. To Merida’s horror, she realized Helen had rearranged her gowns by color and length. When Merida looked at another wardrobe for her cloaks, the contents had also been organized by season. “I will stay close beside you throughout the meal with the Vikings.”

“I thought your attendance wasn't necessary for this event." The one good thing over this whole Viking visit nonsense was that Helen hadn't been needed. Elinor had wanted the event to be more personal and less of a court-wide ceremony.

"You've not been instructed in the proper etiquette to greet and converse with our Viking guests."

"Proper etiquette?" Merida guffawed. "They're Vikings."

"Even so. Queen Elinor left strict instructions that we were to greet them in the proper way."

Merida's lips flattened. She was NOT going to be bullied in her own room by Lady Perfect. She'd already given up enough control of her own life without having someone kick her own door down and tell her what to wear or how to behave. The fact that it was coming from her most annoying suitor's younger sister just added salt to the wound. "If that's all, you have my leave to go, Lady Helen."

"But Sima will need help with your—“

"Sima will do very well without you. She's been doing an excellent job so far." Sima never spoke a word when Merida came in at odd hours of the night or with scratches or bruises she didn’t have any good explanations for. Sima simply did her best to treat the minor wounds, made sure a hot bath or a warm compress was ready whenever it was needed, and procured a plate of cakes if one could be had from the kitchen.   If Sima was bemused by the wood shavings in the princess’s rooms, she never breathed a word to anyone.

Sima colored at her unexpected praise. Helen was less impressed if the furrow in her brow was anything to judge by. She gave her exactly correct curtsy again before exiting the room. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

“The day I need you,” Merida scoffed, glaring as the door shut firmly behind Helen. “I don’t want her help. I will never need her help”

"Milady, quick," Sima whispered. She opened the door to Merida's washroom. Inside, Merida could see the tub already half full and towels laid out in neat rows. "Before Queen Elinor comes."

A knock sounded on the door again.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Helen,” Merida snarled. “I’m getting dressed! Go back to—“ The door swung open.

Queen Elinor stood ramrod straight, her expression entirely unimpressed by her daughter’s excuses. Her stern brown eyes swept over her daughter’s bedraggled appearance and lingered on the mud caking her shoes and the grass stains on her skirts. “I suppose I ought to be grateful you didn’t take a swim on top of everything else."

“Mum, I really didn’t mean to stay so late.”

“But you did. You knew you were supposed to be here at least an hour before the Vikings even arrived, but you didn’t. Worse, you left Helen to take care of your responsibilities and had Sima try to cover your absence!”

“I’m really sorry but I was helping the new stable boy settle in and I just lost track of time—”

“Since when do you care about stable boys?”

“Well,” Merida bit her lip, “Never. But he looked lost and he was really... nice.” Her reasoning sounded weak even to her ears. By the narrowing of the Queen’s eye, her mother thought so as well.

“I just don’t understand how you can act this way. “You know how important these people are—”

“They’re Vikings, Mom.” Merida rolled her eyes. “I thought they’d matter less than the border lairds or the southern barons.”

Queen Elinor breathed deeply through her nostrils. Not a good sign.

“I mean, I know they’re your old friends, but—”

“I taught you better, Merida.” The words whipped out like a lash. The Queen pointed to the washroom, elegant even in her anger. “Clean up.”

Sima swept Merida into the washroom, undressed her and helped scrub her clean in the tub.

"It’s as cold as the loch.” Merida’s teeth chattered. Her hands rubbed her shoulders.

"It wouldn't be cold if you were here on time," Sima said, voice remorseless as she splashed water over Merida's head and soaped it through. After a moment's consideration, she added, "Milady."

“It’s Merida.”

“Princess Merida.”

"Look, I'm really sorry about staying out for so long," Merida sighed. "The day was just too beautiful not to take a long ride and, well, there was something I needed to get.” Now that they were out of the Queen’s sight, she gave Sima her best apologetic look—eyes wide and lips pouting. Her newly appointed handmaiden of only three months gave her a flat look. "Aww, come on. I brought you a present from Loch Connell!"

“That’s called bribery, milady,” the servant said, though the line of her mouth softened somewhat. “Bribing the king’s men is punishable by death.”

“I’ll take my chances with the king,” Merida snorted. “Ouch!” Merida glared as Sima briskly brushed her curls aside. “It’s hair, Sima, not weeds you dig out from under the ground.”

“If you’d come earlier, I might have been gentler. Now the Queen wants you ready in five minutes or she’ll do worse with my head than I am with your hair.”

Merida rinsed herself free of the soap. “You can’t really believe that. Mum wouldn’t punish you for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe not. " Wispy brown tendrils escaped her neat braid and framed a face that was lined with anxiety. Sima helped Merida rise and wrapped her in a soft, woolen towel. “But she is the Queen. I am a servant. I must follow her commands.”

“Aye, the Lady of Clan DunBroch and Queen of the united clans and sovereign of all the Highlands. She gets to boss me around too, you know. She doesn’t let me forget it.”

Sima bit her lip and shook her head. Merida could tell Sima wanted to say something else, but the girl was far too polite. In the past three months, Merida tried to draw the servant out from her shell, but Sima remained implacable behind a wall of duty and formality. It wasn’t that Sima was unemotional. Merida was a DunBroch, just like her brothers. She knew well she could drive anyone to distraction and Sima was no exception. It was just that... With Sima and everyone else, she was the princess first and foremost.

By the time Merida and Sima finished, Queen Elinor had assembled accessories in Merida’s haphazard vanity. How she’d been able to unearth hairnets, ribbons and clips underneath the pile of arrowheads, daggers, flint and rope, Merida would never know. The Queen gestured for Merida and Sima to come closer while she finished organizing Merida’s vanity.

Merida fought the urge to scowl as she let Sima help her slip into her undergarments. Sima’s tranquil expression betrayed none of the surprise she must have felt at this new custom. Merida was used to dressing herself (and told Sima so from the first day) but in front of her mother, she must perforce act the part of the lady. Still, Merida let out an exasperated sigh when the Queen held out a corset, though she dared not complain with the ominous expression on the Queen’s face.

While Sima tied the ribbons to her corset, the Queen began gathering Merida’s curls. The Queen’s movements were firm and deft. Though she spared no effort to make Merida comfortable, neither did she pull Merida’s hair as briskly as Sima. The action soothed Merida. It reminded her of times past when she was a little girl and she’d play in her mother’s vanity.

“I’m not doing any of this to hurt you,” Merida said so softly that Sima, who was by now in the opposite side of the room trying to find her shoes, could not hear. The Queen’s brow smoothed a little and it made her seem less fierce and more like a mother.

“I know you don’t,” Elinor sighed. She knotted Merida’s hair so that it gathered closely at the back and threaded a silken circlet through her hair. It fit snugly round Merida’s brow. “But sometimes you just don’t think. I know you think that these visits from the lords, the barons, the lairds and the merchants are just a waste of time. I admit, their company is, at times, rather trying.”

Merida snorted. ‘Trying’ was a very delicate way of phrasing it.

“But, Merida, it’s either this or fire and blood and swords.”

“You say that like we’re at war. We’ve made peace with the lords. We’ve united the Highlands. For the first time in over a hundred years, no one’s fighting.” There was no immediate answer from her mother as she fiddled with a ribbon in the back of her hair. Normally, Merida would have complained at the ornamentation, but she was still treading on delicate ground.

“Oh, darling,” Elinor’s tone was resigned. When Merida turned to look, the Queen held out the golden gown Helen had picked for her. Merida ducked her head to hide the scowl on her face and slipped it on. “Swords and arrows are only one way of fighting. I thought you understood that.”

“I do!” Merida fumbled and tugged to make sure the gown fell in place. Another reason she hated these ornate dresses. It was just too hard to put on. When she finally pulled her head and all her hair free, Merida added underneath her breath, “I just prefer swords and arrows.”

The Queen shook her head, exasperated. Her fingers were methodical as it closed the small buttons at the back of the gown, then sealed the seam with little deft knots of tiny golden ribbons. “You were doing so well when your cousins and the Romans came to visit a week ago. Surely the experience wasn’t so terrible that you must now avoid all visits?”

Merida dropped her gaze, grateful that her mother couldn’t see her face. Memories of the past week flooded through her mind and she felt a strange combination of giddiness, embarrassment, warmth and wariness curl in her belly. Terrible? That wasn’t how she’d describe the past week.

Sima came forward with the shoes and helped Merida slip them on. Elinor surveyed her daughter up and down. Merida took the opportunity to examine her in return. Sunlight flooding through Merida’s window illuminated the Queen’s tall, imposing form. Her deep blue gown was accented with a golden belt that caught the light. Her crown, recovered from the woods a year past, looked heavy but Elinor bore the weight well. Still, the troubles and cares of years past left their mark on the Queen. Little lines creased the corner of her mother’s eyes. Merida had never seen it before, and it made her uncomfortable. Guilty. How often had she contributed to her mother’s worries?

“You look wonderful,” Elinor smiled faintly. “Are you comfortable?”

The guilt doubled. Her mother really was trying to make Merida’s transition into court easier. Merida gazed down at her form swathed in the golden gown. Her sleeves, though wrapped in long, trailing ribbons, were loose and comfortable. Though the bodice made deep breaths a trial, the dress left her shoulders exposed and easy for movement. When Sima held up Osgar’s looking glass, she saw a young maiden with a rosy blush on her cheeks and red curls spilling elegantly around her face. She looked beautiful and formal. A creature of the court.

Merida wasn’t comfortable. But perhaps, Merida realized, she would never be comfortable. So instead, she squared her shoulders and replied, “I’m ready.”

* * *

 

Bedlam spilled out as soon as the steward opened the door to the Small Hall. When Merida peeked over her mother’s shoulders, she saw the long wooden table already crowded with their Viking visitors and her father. The table was piled high with roasted geese, boar’s head, oatcakes baked with nuts, apples, cherries and slabs of bread. Thick candles heavy with drooping wax illuminated the food. Cupbearers and servers expertly dodged drunken warriors, refilled drinking horns and replaced jugs of ale and mead.

On one end of the table, one of her father’s men was engaged in a drinking contest with a Viking. Although it was apparent the Vikings little understood Gaelic, all involved seemed to understand the rules of the contest. Another pair cleared a little space on the long, dark wooden table and was engaged in an arm wrestling match. Furthest along the table was her father who shouted orders in broken Norse to the Vikings. Two Vikings staggered under the weight of a stuffed bear that they must have carried from the Great Hall. The king bellowed, “Aye, if you put the bear just so, it’ll be the same height as Mor’du. Now, here we go! I took out my sword!” He drew out a great sword in a flourish that sent some nearby Highlanders stumbling back.  

“Looks like they’re getting along,” said Merida.

“Great stars, is it safe?” Helen muttered.

Merida eyed her sourly. True to her word, Helen had been waiting outside the princess’s chamber. Elinor had very graciously thanked Helen for all her efforts for the morning and had invited Helen to sit with Merida for the visit. Helen had very graciously accepted both the thanks and the invitation. Merida scowled during the entire exchange.

A fight broke out along the table between the opponents of the drinking contest. The brawling pair knocked into others who shouted protests in half-intelligible Gaelic. The table was soon filled with warriors shoving clumsily at each other and yelling something about dragon conquerors and bear champions.

The fight distracted the king from his reenactment. “Oo, get ‘em, lad! Last man standing wins the the last of Kincaid’s special brew. Two sips and it’ll knock you right down.” The king chortled at his own joke.

In the noise of the room, no one noticed the Queen’s entrance. An ominous storm cloud formed over her mother’s brow. Merida gulped and was glad she was not in its path for once. Kincaid, her father, her hunting teacher Linus, even the erstwhile Roman General Titus told her stories about the battle fever that enveloped certain warriors when they rode into battle. They radiated deadly killing intent and opposing forces scattered at their sheer ferocity. Her mother may have never wielded a sword, but Merida bet her best bow that her mother had the fiercest battle fever aura of them all.

The Queen strode into the dining hall, neck long, shoulder back and chin held high. All around her, warriors stopped in their tracks, magically sobered up and backed away. She made her way through the noisy throng, silencing Vikings and Highlanders as she went. The king guiltily sheathed his sword at her approach. “Merida, stay here. I need to have a word with your father.”

“Yes, Mum,” Merida muttered, having trailed in her mother’s bloody wake at a much more sedate pace. She glanced back to see Helen hovering by the door, face anxious and torn. Merida smirked before returning her attention to their visitors.

The Vikings were tall and broad shouldered with long, unkempt hair and wild beards. Their biceps were as thick as haunches of boar and many bore scars or broken noises from past fights. The largest of them was half a foot taller than the others, was nearly twice as broad and carried the largest war hammer she’d ever seen.

“Stay put, ya bloody Viking!” A Highlander swung a platter at a boy who dove in front of Merida and rolled underneath the nearby table.

Cursing the corset for preventing her from bending over, she tilted her head and saw a pair of familiar, wide green eyes and heard the clink of a metal leg. Merida’s brows flew up.

The stable boy caught sight of her at the same time. He shot up to his feet, cracked his head against the table but toppled it all the same. Merida stepped backwards in time to avoid being crushed, then stumbled as her foot caught at her own skirts. A whole plate of mutton hit her in the thigh, followed by a platter of apples and grapes, and then a thick candle, flame bright and cheerful, fell wick-first into her skirt.

“Oh my gods!” yelped the stable boy, stumbling towards her. “Your dress!”

“It’s fine, it’s not—“

“Here let me—“

Merida looked up in time to get a pitcherful of Kincaid’s special brew heaved into her. The small flame, which had smoked and curled harmless in her skirt, now burst into an earnest fire.

In slow motion, Merida watched as the stable boy dove in front of her and started batting at her skirts frantically. Merida’s breath whooshed out of her as she tried to do the same, but couldn’t bend for more than a few inches. Around them, everyone had frozen mid-fight. A Viking gripped a Highlander in a chokehold. Two Highlanders were piled on top of another Viking. A small hysterical giggle bubbled in her throat and erupted into a shriek.

The flame licked upwards and she could feel the heat through her heavy skirts and chemise. The stable boy couldn’t put out the fire. She was going to die in this prison of a dress.

The thought of being forever imprisoned in a gown she hadn’t even picked made fury surge through her limbs. “Nevermind that, you fool. Get me out of this dress!"

"But—“

"GET IT OFF ME!"

Merida twisted and shimmied, attempting to get at the little ribbons fastening her dress. In the corner of her eye, she saw Helen push her way through the spectators and yank at a nearby table cloth.

The stable boy stumbled to Merida’s back and jerked her hair to the side. His fingers fumbled along the seams of her dress. “I—I don't know how to get it off. I don’t know what this is! Is this some—I don’t know—a chastity thing? Is there a key or a special trick that I have to—?”

"By all the stars—just rip it off if you have to!"

With that, the boy pulled at the gown so hard Merida stumbled a few steps back. One hand firmly against her shoulder, the stable boy gripped her gown by the seam and ripped. She could feel the material stretch and pull, the quick pain of it biting against her shoulders and arms, but she didn't care. She knew the fire would be a crueler pain. Merida tore at the neckline of her dress, but her grip was weak, failing.

Merida couldn’t breathe. Her vision tunneled. She coughed against the smoke surging upwards and stealing whatever air the corset would allow her to take.

Helen threw the table cloth on the flame and gave Merida a momentary respite from the smoke. The last of the gown came off with a loud rip. Helen took hold of Merida’s sodden skirts using the table cloth and screamed, “Pull her off!”

The stable boy lifted her bodily from the ground and dragged her away. Helen yanked and Merida kicked feebly at the flaming remains of her once beautiful gown. It fell to the floor and made a merry, little fire.

“Are you okay?” The stable boy breathed against her ear. “Are you still on fire?”

Merida let out a small, faint whimper. He gripped her so tightly to him that now she really couldn’t breathe as much as she desperately needed to. Her hand pulled at his arms banded across her chest.

“Oh my gods,” the stable boy gasped. He loosened his grip and she slid against him on to the floor. She would have fallen if it weren’t for the stable boy’s grip on her shoulder.

Chest heaving and mouth parted, Merida concentrated on taking shallow, life-giving pulls of the sweet air. Strength and clarity returned slowly. The cool air of the castle licked along her bare shoulders and arms. The stable boy was a warm presence at her back. There was no other sound in the room other than her breathing.

Merida’s eyes snapped open. The warriors surrounding them were elbowing each other, eyes wide and amused. She didn’t have to hear what they were whispering to each other to know what they were thinking. Their grins gave it away.

Abruptly, Merida became aware of the state of her undress. Her chemise was soaked, almost see through, her skirts were singed and torn revealing more of, rather than hiding, her legs. The only part of her outfit left untouched was the hateful corset.

The stable boy realized it at the same too. There was a little gasp behind her and the arms supporting her fell away. Merida staggered upright. The stable boy retreated a few paces from her, blushing furiously and looking at anywhere but her.

"Merida, darling, are you all right?" Elinor and Fergus finally made their way over. Horrified, Elinor tugged at her husband's cape and threw it over Merida.

Grimacing, Merida croaked, "I'm fine, mum." While Elinor fussed, Merida caught sight of the giant Viking patting the stable boy on the shoulder. He too wasn't paying attention to the man fussing over him. The stable boy was staring at her with wide, terrified eyes. He was mouthing something, but she didn't understand. "What is the stable—“

"Princess Merida!" The stable boy burst out, taking everyone by surprise. He dropped to one knee in front of Merida and her mother. "I am Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, son of Stoick the Vast of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe."

“You’re joking.” The boy flushed. Merida colored too once she realized no one else laughed. “B-but.... You were—“

"Rescuing you. Yes. It was, erm, my pleasure." He flashed her a tiny, queasy smile.

Merida stared at him in horrified silence.

"We are most grateful for your quick actions, Hiccup," said Elinor after a beat too long. Hiccup, if that was even his ridiculous name, didn't respond. He just stared anxiously at Merida.

“Yes, he has legendary reflexes and all that," laughed the giant Viking. Merida realized he must be Hiccup's father. "He's rescued a maid or two in his day."

Stoick nudged Hiccup and he jerked to attention. "Oh! Um, yes, I rescued lots of, um, dragons, I mean, maidens. Yes. You were in good hands."

Still more silence from Merida even after Elinor patted her shoulder

“Are you in shock? Do you, uh, need to lie down?” Hiccup's brow furrowed in concern. “You…look terrible.”

With the last of her strength, Merida hauled her arm back and punched him square in the jaw.


	12. Old Family Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiccup deals with the aftermath of setting the Princess on fire.

By the time the room had been put back into order and the princess returned, Hiccup’s panic had subsided somewhat. The Princess had punched him and screamed at him, but hadn’t told anyone about the gate incident. Instead, she’d accused him of setting her on fire.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merida,” the Queen said, with her arms around the Princess both as a gesture of comfort and a restraining hold. The Queen had been the first to drag Merida away from Hiccup’s sprawled form on the ground. “There was a fight. The candle could have rolled from anywhere.”

“The candle from the table he—”

“That’s enough! You’re suffering from shock. Helen, take the Princess to her room and have her change her clothes. We’ll set this all to rights by the time you get back.”

“I am not suffering from shock! I wouldn't be in shock if he—”

“Your Majesty, the Princess is telling—” Hiccup had cut himself off when Stoick squeezed his shoulder.

“Never get into the middle of a domestic. Especially a royal domestic,” the Chief had whispered.

Meanwhile, the Queen had bent down and whispered in her daughter’s ear. Merida stiffened. After a moment, the Queen straightened and released her daughter’s shoulders. “Now, let’s get this room cleaned up. Chief Stoick, if you could please have your men stand to the side. Thank you! Fergus, dear…”

Stoick had hustled Hiccup to the side along with the rest of the Vikings. “I didn’t know she’d be so hysterical or so strong. You all right?”

Hiccup rotated his jaw, winced, but nodded. The blow had had him seeing his stars, but she hadn’t done any permanent damage.

“Good job rescuing the Princess,” Stoick beamed, mustache twitching. “Believe it or not, getting punched by her is probably the best reaction we could have wanted. Now they’ll have to apologize.”

“You’re welcome,” Hiccup had said sourly.

Now, with the table newly restocked, conversation was light and pleasant. The fight seemed to have thawed any residual coolness between Vikings and Highlanders. Despite the language barrier, he could see many warriors congratulating or praising each other. Several Vikings discreetly gave Hiccup a slap on the back or a sly wink for “ravishing, err, rescuing the Princess.” Hiccup sank into his chair.

He could just imagine his friends’ reactions.

“You panicked so you tore her clothes off?” Astrid would say, mouth curled.

“Whoa,” Tuffnut would say, impressed. “So if I set Ruff on fire, will you take her cl—” Ruffnut would hit him so hard he’d be knocked unconscious.

“You did not!” Snotlout would add, incredulously. “Did she throw up?”

“I don’t know what that says about your survival skills,” Fishlegs would say, always the diplomat.

Memories of his friends brought a dull, hollow ache in his chest that he tried to ignore. Hiccup sighed. At least nobody else in the table seemed to pay much mind to the princess’s ire. Stoick, Fergus and Elinor were chatting amiably at the head of the table.

“Did you know, Hiccup, you used to make flower crowns for me and your mother?” Elinor delicately buttered her toast.

“So that’s where you learned to do it.” Stoick finished his third mug of ale. At the Queen’s startled glance, Stoick added, “It’s not a common game among our children.”

“I don’t remember that.” Hiccup’s cheeks reddened. He had vague memories of small, chubby hands sticky from the nectar of flowers, but he didn’t remember who he was making the flower chains for. He was suddenly very glad the other Vikings understood little of Gaelic. He shot a subtle glance at the princess, who sat opposite her mother. “Did the Princess make flower crowns too?”

The Princess stabbed her slice of venison as though she was gutting a pig.

“Merida was already playing hunt-the-troll by then,” the King waved his knife as if it was a miniature sword, "or hide-and-seek. Her favourite game was jumping out from behind trees or doors to scare you, lad.”

“I did not."

“You were only five, Merida." The Queen's determination to ignore her daughter's black mood was nothing short of Herculean. “Hiccup must have been... four? Do you remember Merida at all, Hiccup?”

“Not really.” At the Queen’s disappointed look, he added, “I mean, I sort of remember what she looked like… Big hair and all.” He made a vague gesture with two hands that approximated the length of her hair.

“I suppose that is hard to forget,” the Queen chuckled.

Merida gave him a look that chilled him to the bone. Hiccup sighed and picked at his food glumly. At least she hadn’t revealed the gate incident to her parents. If she didn’t talk about it now, she wasn’t likely to.

In fact, the Princess didn’t speak much throughout the meal. Stoick, Elinor and Fergus spent most of the time reminiscing about the scrapes and troubles Merida and Hiccup would get into as children. Fergus told story after story of troll hunting adventures, of “borrowing” weapons from the armoury, of getting lost in the woods or falling into pools. Stoick revealed that Hiccup had continued to hunt for trolls long after his memory of the Princess faded.

“I’d take him fishing and he’d go hunting for trolls instead.” Stoick clunked tankards with Fergus. “It was all he ever wanted to play. It drove his cousin Snotlout mad.”

“When you were a babe, lad, Merida would leave you at the base of trees for the wee folk to take away.” Fergus took a long pull of his tankard, finished and refilled it. He pushed the pitcher to Stoick, who accepted. “My Lady Queen was less than pleased. Finally, after finding you in the gardens after sunset for the fifth time in a week, she decided to hide you in the tapestry room to teach our wee lass a lesson. And it worked! Merida was distraught. She confessed all to Valhallarama and the two of them went on a quest to rescue you.”

“On stormy nights, you and Merida would ask me for stories of ancient kingdoms, enchanted dragons and cursed princes.” Elinor’s smile was small but genuine, the corners of her eyes crinkling with pleasure. “You two would dress up as characters from the stories and put on plays for me and Val.”

Hiccup squirmed in his chair, his skin prickling under the Princess’s black glares. The end of the meal couldn’t have come sooner.

He was just planning to escape back to the Viking longship when Elinor cleared her throat. “Perhaps the Princess would like to give Hiccup a tour of the castle? Talk of trade and harvest will seem awfully dull for young folks.”

“Oh no,” Hiccup said at once. “I’d really be happy to help Slowbottom—”

“Excellent! Hiccup’s a hardworking boy.” Stoick beamed. He ignored Hiccup’s wide-eyed, pleading look. “He deserves a break every once in a while. Son, I can take care of the shipment without you.”

The Princess spoke in hushed whispers with the Queen. The Queen shook her head and said in a loud voice, “Merida, it would a great courtesy to your rescuer and _the least you could do._ ”

“Of course, Mother." The Princess's voice, when she turned to face them, was all sweetness. Hiccup focused on the hands fisted inside her sleeve. An ideal hiding spot for a knife. “There’s nothing I’d like better.”

 

* * *

 

In the first few minutes Hiccup was alone with the Princess, he genuinely feared for his life: from a girl over a head shorter than him, and with hair the approximate size and colour of a Gronckle’s lava blast! It wasn’t anything she said. In fact, it was quite the opposite of what she said. From a girl who had to been so chatty, silence was worse than a wild dragon’s roar.

"Listen, I'm really sorry about the candle and everything."

A fist jabbed into his middle. Hiccup bent over double, then a forearm slammed into his neck and pushed his head back against a wall. The Princess glared. "You meant to do that, didn't you? You wanted to look good in front of everyone."

"Are you nuts?" Hiccup choked. "I rescued you because you were on fire!"

“A fire that you started!"

"It was an accident!"

They stared at one another. Her eyes were narrowed into slits, the pupils an icy blue. He was sure he was starting to turn blue himself from lack of oxygen. Voices sounded down the corridor. Merida stepped away in one smooth motion, skirts swishing as she went, and Hiccup fell in a dazed heap on the floor. Servants passed by with a "Good day, Princess,” and a curious look at Hiccup.

"He's feeling a bit faint, that’s all," the Princess laughed. "All that wine went to his head."

Hiccup staggered upright, but made sure to stay a few feet away from her. If she attacked, he was going to run as fast as he could. He didn’t care how it looked. There was no way she could catch up; her legs weren't nearly as long as his.

"Don't you want a tour of the castle?" she scoffed.

"Does it include some dark, secret place you can hide my body?”

The Princess considered him for a long moment, brow contracted, but at least her expression was no longer furious. Hiccup thought about preemptively bolting, but he’d spent most of his life running _towards_ dangerous creatures. Why change now? For the Princess was dangerous: as dangerous as any wild dragon with unpredictable instincts.

“You must be lying. You lied to me about being a stable boy.”

“I didn’t. You assumed! Besides, you never told _me_ you were the Princess.”

Silence. Then, “No one can be that clumsy.”

Hiccup flushed and bit back his retort. He squared his shoulders and said, “Believe it or not, it _was_ an accident. I didn’t mean to set you on fire. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

The Princess let out a breath and rolled her eyes. “Are you coming or not?” It came out as a statement rather than a question, as if she didn’t care either way. She probably didn’t. She brushed past him with a whisper of silk and warmth and proceeded down a dark flight of steps.

Hiccup bit his lip. He glanced down the bright, cheerful corridor that led into the relatively safe, highly populated Small Hall then back to the stairs. The Princess’s shoes made no sound on the stone steps as she descended. Hiccup tried to calculate the possibility she might actually kill him but his mind came up blank. He couldn’t predict her; he didn’t understand her. Living in a world full of men and beasts usually much larger and more dangerous than him, Hiccup _had_ to be perceptive of the people in his surroundings; but other than a keen awareness of her presence, he could draw no insight. It was disconcerting.

Her red hair disappeared past the landing.

“I’m gonna regret this,” Hiccup muttered, and he hurried after her.

The Princess led him past a lower level alive with the chatter of servants and rooms busy with the work of their occupants. Men carried barrels of ale down to an even lower level. Women sang as they cleaned. Hiccup lingered at the doorway of one large room with walls filled top to bottom with shelves. Each shelf carried bottles, pots, baskets and other assorted odds and ends. A man with graying hair glanced up at him, pausing in his work of grinding herbs into a stone pot. Hiccup ducked his head and shuffled after the Princess.

She led him up another flight of stairs. Hiccup’s breath became harsher as they climbed higher and higher. He glanced out one window and realized they were in the opposite direction of the Small Hall. The upper rooms were quiet, the furnishing rich, and Hiccup only saw a few men and women in costly attire walking about.

“This is the tapestry room,” the Princess barked, stabbing the air to point at an open door. Inside, Hiccup could just make out a loom, coloured cushions, and balls of thread in a basket. “We weave there.”

Hiccup swallowed. Okay. She really was going to give him a tour. They walked down the length of the hallway.

“ _This_ is the music room,” the Princess continued, voice monotone and face blank. “We play instruments there.”

Well then. Hiccup lapsed into awkward silence as he followed his hostess across dark corridors, cold guest bedrooms stiff in elegance, trophy rooms with heads of wild beasts and long galleries decorated with strange wooden bear carvings. Once or twice, Hiccup asked a question about a room, which she answered with one word. When he made a comment (“Our tapestries in the Meade Hall celebrate Viking heroes who’ve won great renown in battle”), she ignored him.  

In the armory, he picked up a short sword, slender but with a blade as strong as gronckle steel, and passed it from hand-to-hand to feel the balance. The Princess glanced at him, for once curious and not hostile.

“Good balance,” he muttered. Remembering his father’s repeated admonitions to simply act like a proper Viking, he added, “But I’m used to bigger weapons. This is pretty short. It’s almost a long dagger.”

“It’s my favourite sword,” she responded, mouth curled.

“Oh, well, uh,” he babbled, nearly dropping the weapon. “It’s... pretty.”

For a long moment, she did nothing but stare at him straight in the eyes. Blood surged through his veins. The feeling was not dissimilar to the moment of vertigo right before gravity took hold and Toothless plunged straight down into the air.

“Pretty,” she agreed, finally, and turned away.

After that, Hiccup made sure not to speak a word and only looked dutifully at the rooms or tapestries she pointed out. His curiosity regarding the castle died a slow death at the hands of the Princess. He doubted anyone could make the castle duller.

He stared at her back as she walked ahead of him. Her red curls bounced with every step and caught the dying afternoon sunlight. Her gown, a rich dark blue embroidered with a golden braid and slitted at the sides to show the red panels underneath, made a soft swish as she moved. Every so often, she’d turn and he’d catch a whiff of smoke and heather and soap. Her face was severe as those of the village elders—as severe as everyone who judged him and found him wanting.

His jaw tightened.

They exited the kitchen, a room as large as an average longhouse with about three dozen people rushing to prepare dinner, and walked the outer perimeter. She pointed out a few structures, but paused when they reached the stables.

“Okay, so that was fun.” Hiccup forced some cheer into his voice. “I guess I better get back to my Dad. Talk some important Viking things…” He coughed and started sidling away from the girl.

“Viking,” she called out, voice deceptively soft. Hiccup turned. She took a deep breath — once, twice — then said, in a slow, precise way: “If you ever tell anyone about the stable…the things I said... I’ll use you for moving target practice.”

* * *

 

Hiccup found his father in one of the long galleries filled with rows of comfortable beds. The Viking Chief was speaking with Slowbottom who’d finally made his way up from the ships. They’d delivered their gifts of dried fish and dragon bone to the King and Queen. The crinkle at the corner of Stoick’s eye combined with Slowbottom’s grin indicated the success of the opening agreements.

“I told you dragon bone was rare here.” Stoick cleaned his warhammer and laid it against the table where his short sword and dagger lay. The metal on the weapons had turned dull from the moisture and salt in the air. “You could almost see the bowyers and smith foaming at the mouth.”

“They’re going to be wanting more of that.” Slowbottom opened the map charting the course between the Highlands and Berk and traced a finger indicating the ocean currents. “Salmon and cod aren’t in season anymore, but we’ve still got a good population back home. Some merchants even talked about getting some seal and whale if we can.”

“The Queen’s been friendly.”

“Aye, but will the other lords be so friendly?”

“It doesn’t matter what the other lords do. The Queen likes us. The Princess likes—Hiccup!” Stoick rose once he caught sight of his son. “How was the princess?”

“She’s crazy.”

“All women are.”

“No, really, I think she might have some sort of personality disorder,” Hiccup continued, brow furrowed. “One minute she’s friendly, the next she’s—”

“It could be that time of the month.” Slowbottom nudged Stoick knowledgeably.   “Y’see, Hiccup, when women start bl—”

“I know that!” Hiccup snapped, face reddening. “I did grow up with Astrid and Ruff.”

“I know you’re stressed, son,” Stoick clapped a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder, “but you’re doing well. We’re doing well. The King said we’d talk tomorrow about a permanent trading situation between Berk and the Highlands.”

“That’s…” Hiccup took a deep breath. “Great, Dad. ” He couldn’t let some Highlander, princess or not, rile him up so easily. He had to refocus on the larger goal here. What was important was Berk, and Berk needed this trade. Putting up with a crazy princess was a small price to pay. Besides, he had already done the hard part. The Princess and he didn’t need to be alone anymore. With a bit of luck, he’d never have to be alone with her again.

  
  
  



	13. Hail the Dragon Conqueror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Hiccup (accidentally) setting her on fire, Merida attempts to regain some composure (and a little of her own back).

Osgar Macintosh's younger sister surveyed the DunBroch kitchens like a general overlooking a potential battlefield. Cooks were bent over pots of _kilmenny kail_ while undercooks stirred the almost ready _stovies_. Great haunches of venison rotated slowly above the fire. Bakers withdrew platters of bread from the stove oven.

"Do you think Chief Stoick and his son would prefer _kilmenny kail_ over lamprey soup?”

This was pointless. She wouldn't be here at all if the Queen hadn't _demanded_ that she make up for her missed morning duties. Dithering over whether _that Viking_ wanted this meat on that dish was the last thing she wanted to do. She took a deep breath, let the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked bread wash through her, and responded in as even a voice as she could manage, “Boars’ heads.”

“We already have roasted venison as the main dish. Besides, boars’ heads will not complement the taste of the other dishes.”

“The Vikings won’t notice what goes with what. They just want to eat.” Merida snatched a cake from a passing baker and stuffed it into her mouth. Hunger gnawed at her stomach; she hadn’t eaten much at the noonday meal and likely wouldn’t eat anything at all for the evening feast if Helen had her way with her wardrobe.

“Sima, have the maids set up the trestle tables and spread the cloths?" Either Helen hadn't heard her or she had adopted Elinor's favorite tactic against her daughter's truculence: wilful ignorance.

"Yes, milady.” Sima bowed to Helen. It annoyed Merida more than it really should. Sima was her personal maid. Why Helen insisted on Sima accompanying them to supervise cooking the evening feast was beyond the princess. "Shall I have them bring out the silver spoons, cups and mazers?"

"What would Your Highness prefer?"

“Wooden ones.”

Helen gave her the look usually reserved for particularly slow-witted children. In her most delicate voice, she said, “That’s not what Queen Elinor would prefer.”

“They’ll dent the silver spoons and cups.”

“Wooden crockery doesn’t send the right message.”

“It’s spoons and cups and dishes,” said Merida through clenched teeth. “They’re not that subtle. The last time we sent a message to the Barbaric Archipelago about a trading agreement, they thought we were asking for instructions to build an outhouse.”

“One must always put one’s best foot forward,” responded Helen, just as she paused in front of the great fireplace. The flames picked out the golden threads in her beautiful brown gown and the blue tints in her glossy dark hair. Merida wondered if the Macintosh girl preened habitually or whether she made an art of finding the best spots to be admired. “Have the set from Clan Campbell brought out. It should go wonderfully with the cloth from Clan MacLeod."

Sima glanced at Merida, who rolled her eyes but nodded.

"At once, milady.” Sima bowed and walked off to speak to one of the kitchen maids.

Helen swept over to the fire to inspect the venison. The scent was mouthwatering—spicy, tangy and earthy all at once. It was one of Merida's favourite roasts and she thought it wasted on the Vikings.

"Perhaps we should have ordered more," Helen muttered to herself. She patted the _turnbrochie_ for a job well done and rewarded him with a small coin.

"Then order more.”

"This is the last from the pantry." Helen's glance was too carefully neutral. That meant she was hiding whatever she really felt, which meant she was annoyed. Merida should be bothered by that, but she wasn't. "But Your Highness can see whatever is lacking the next time we tour the pantries, larders, butteries, undercrofts and cellars."

"Certainly." Merida snagged a spoon and used it to sample the lamprey soup. The spicy, sour taste almost made Merida forget whom she was with. "When is that?"

"We were due this morning."

Merida harrumphed, and crossed her arms. Her lady-in-waiting ignored her expression and continued her trek through the kitchen. Helen greeted many of the cooks, undercooks, bakers and pantlers by name.

"We'll simply have to cook the rest of the geese," Helen announced, after conferring with a cook. "Though I'm not sure if the Vikings have ever had geese.”

“Probably have. Serve the roasted herons and the haggis too if you’re worried.”

“Haggis? Don’t you think they might be… disconcerted by haggis? Their tastes are not as refined as ours and many of our delicacies might seem strange.”

“You’re absolutely right. These people kill dragons and each other for sport, but sheep stomach? We’re surely crossing the line. Can’t have the Dragon Conqueror hurling at the High Table. Please, take haggis out of the menu.”

Several of the cooks and kitchen maids laughed. Helen was not so amused.

"The Queen said the Barbaric Archipelago is a rich untapped opportunity of resources and that ensuring the Vikings' comfort is an important first step in creating trading relations between us." Helen's recitation of that portion of Elinor's afternoon lecture was word-for-word perfect. Merida would have been impressed if it wasn't entirely disconcerting having a miniature Elinor repeats bits of the Queen's lecture back at her all day long. "Our kingdom's importance is directly proportional to our value as a market and that—”

"I was there, Helen," Merida not-quite snarled. She tossed her discarded spoon into a nearby sink and the sharp thud of metal against metal was loud even in the bustle of the kitchen. “Ten books covering Etiquette, Geography and History, Strategy, and Languages right after you picked me up from the stables. She grilled me harder than she did you before Dad called her away from some incident at Ol’ Kilpatrick.”

Helen's brows wrinkled in confusion or frustration or both as she stared up at Merida. It was a look that often crossed her face when Merida refused to be impressed by Helen's knowledge of clan history or etiquette. "I know that Your Highness has been… _traumatised_ by the accident a few hours ago. You've somehow fixated on the Chief's son as the channel for your irritation but—”

"I am not trauma— I am not like you!” Merida’s fingers curled into fists. “I’m not some delicate, wilting flower. I am not irritated; I am _furious. Don’t you get it?_ Everyone is congratulating that lying idiot for _rescuing_ me when he set me on fire in the first place!”

Helen stared at her, a pretty flush high on her cheeks. Merida caught snatches of astonishment, embarrassment, even anger in her violet eyes. The dark haired girl drew a breath, then stopped, glancing around them. Merida looked too. Everyone was staring. The cooks had stopped chopping or stirring; the scullery maids had stopped washing; the kitchen boys had stopped dead in their tracks carrying pitchers of mead. Even Sima and Maudie were staring from the other end of the kitchen.

“I’m sorry, Princess.” Helen swept her a deep curtsy. Her expression, when she rose to face Merida, was calm and even once more. “It was my mistake.”

That was worse than if Helen had shouted back at her. Merida wanted to shake the stupid girl. Instead, she simply gritted her teeth and nodded.

The kitchen slowly resumed its usual din and activity. Several glanced curiously at the Princess and her lady-in-waiting but neither girl looked at the other. Merida heard Helen muttering food items underneath her breath and wanted to roll her eyes. If Helen kept this up, Merida was going to help her into an early grave. No doubt Helen’s tombstone would have some maxim or other from Elinor etched into it.

“I’m going to prepare myself for the feast,” Merida announced abruptly.

“Of course! Excellent idea!” Helen straightened, eyes aglow. “We have time enough to decide on the gown and the jewellery and—”

Merida put a hand against her forehead.

* * *

 

“Hail the Dragon Conqueror!”

Merida's fingers were raw and blistered from digging into the heavy seat. The Princess of DunBroch smiled at their Viking visitors as she surreptitiously tried to angle her chair away yet again. The wooden legs scraped loudly against the stone floor.

Helen gave another one of her polite coughs that Merida ignored as usual. Harder to ignore was Queen Elinor's discreet chastising frown. Merida jerked her shoulders upward. Elinor held her daughter's gaze for a long moment before nodding once to the Vikings. Merida sank back into her chair, resisted the urge to cross her arms, and stared once more at Stoick the Vast and Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the III.

It seemed that Vikings were as prone to lie and fawn over their young sons as Highlanders were. Throughout the great feast, Stoick recounted tale after tale of how Hiccup had conquered the Red Death that plagued the island of Berk since Vikings first landed and his many smaller conquests since. The man might be rough spoken and ill used to addressing the court, but he spoke with verve about his son’s exploits. He reminded her of the Lords Macintosh, Dingwall and MacGuffin.

It disgusted Merida. Based on what little interaction she had with the Viking Chief, she had thought him better than dreaming up fanciful tales about his son. Or maybe, Merida thought darkly, he was touched in the head. There was no denying the beam of fierce, paternal pride as Stoick patted Hiccup on the back or the way he raised his voice in toasting his son’s exploits. Maybe he really believed all the stories he was spewing forth.

Most of the men did. Despite their avowed aversion to all Vikings just a day before, the majority of them were listening enraptured to Stoick’s tales. Her father even shushed her when she leaned over to whisper a snide comment in his ear. Merida wanted to hurl her wine. Can’t you see? she wanted to shout at everyone. You can’t honestly believe half this bollocks about this strange lad.

The boy in question sat mute next to his father. He didn't flex his muscles or add much to his father's stories unless his father asked him a question. Otherwise, he remained still, face growing red — likely from having drunk too much wine. His whole attention was immersed on the plate in front of him, where a particularly fat whole chicken rested. No doubt he thought he looked more impressive by acting stoic. Well, Merida thought he looked like a frog in boiling water!

In the corner of her eye, she saw a warrior whispering to a giggling lady and jerk his chin at her. The Court had been absolutely abuzz with the news of Merida's disgrace. The famously headstrong, independent Princess had nearly been killed but was rescued by a _Viking_ no less. They’d talk about this for years to come.

Stoick slammed his cup down on the table for emphasis, effectively drawing everybody’s gaze yet again. His hand gestured expansively while the other rested easily on his son’s shoulders. But Hiccup wasn’t listening to him like everyone else in the room. Of the whole assembly, he was the only one looking at her.

Thoughtful, wide green eyes considered her under a mop of windblown-brown hair. His head tilted to one side as he considered her, and he chewed his bottom lip. The firelight cast a warm glow on smooth, sun-browned skin. He looked almost concerned.

Merida’s breath caught in her throat; she had the uncomfortable feeling that he saw her more thoroughly than he let on. It reminded her of their first meeting. He had seemed harmless, at first. A little naive, a little lost, but she had seen those qualities several times before from many visitors and servants who first came to DunBroch. Sima had been a little like that in the beginning. But the more she spoke to him, the more she had seen too the lively intelligence behind his green eyes, and the wry, sarcastic humour that threaded through his words — open, unassuming and accepting. It was startlingly easy to be around him; when they had spoken of their shared parent problems, she’d felt as if she was finally speaking and being heard — not patronised nor judged. It felt… really nice. Like a burden being lightened or shared.

“Hail the Dragon Conqueror!” everyone chorused again at the end of Stoick’s story.

Merida’s eyes narrowed. But he was a liar. He was the son of a Viking Chief who was parading him around as ridiculously as the other lords did their sons — while Merida? Merida was reduced to another hapless damsel in distress — a Helen who was ‘traumatised’ by the fire and needed someone to save her. Doubtless he had already spoken to his father about the spoiled princess and her ridiculous woes over her mother.

The Viking Chief drew breath for another story when Merida jumped to her feet and forced some cheer into her voice. “Time for some music and dancing, I think."

For once, Helen was on her side. She clapped her hands together, revealing every bit of her fourteen years. "Wonderful idea, Princess! If the ladies could please line up — and, of course, Her Highness’s first dance is with the Chief’s son.”

Merida could have kicked Helen’s chair over. Heart hammering in her throat, she said, “I couldn't possibly—”

"I'm a terrible dancer. Not a good idea—”

“—an honour I wouldn't deserve from someone so—”

"The Princess is better suited for—”

Hiccup and Merida stared at each other while the Court tittered in the background. The protests had come so quickly that it was impossible to tell who had refused first.

The Queen came to their rescue. She cleared her throat and the noise vanished throughout the Hall. “The floor is open to everyone. Musicians?"

The harpists and fiddlers began a merry tune. Warriors and maidens, lords and ladies, and even a few daring Vikings who had been asked by even braver ladies soon filled the floor. When Kincaid appeared at her side, Merida couldn’t have been more grateful to accept his hand for a reel. She didn't want to be cornered by either Helen or her mother.

Her father’s _toisech_ raised his brow at the naked relief on her face, but didn’t say anything about the subject. Instead, he spoke of his new recruits—Brian, Ided, and Domnall—and the trouble they’d got into. “So then Brian lost his head and hurled his practice sword like a spear. Domnall ducked and the sword hit Ided straight in the arse the next field over. Brian’s weaponless for the rest of the match but he still won. Domnall was on the floor laughing ‘till time ran out.”

Merida tried and failed to contain her guffaw. It partially worked. Only the next couple down the line looked in askance at them. “If your men can hurl spears straight into enemy arses, I’d say your men are in good shape.”

“Language! Honestly, Princess, were you raised by sailors?” Kincaid tut-tutted at her and shrugged at the couple nearest them. “Pardon the Princess.”

“You’re getting old, Kincaid. I learned my best swear words growing up in the practice yards with you and your warriors. Even Linus had better manners.”

“I told you I was better than him!”

“You’re still upset about that?” Merida laughed again at the reminder of the old rivalry between her hunting teacher and her swords-master.

“You have an alarming fondness for foreign practices and outsiders.”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Merida snapped. A pulse of alarm flitted through her that she quickly tried to squash. “Listen, it’s been a while since I’ve been down to the practice yards. I can come down tomorrow and help with next lesson. Just let me cancel—”

“Ah, it’s not needed, lass.” Kincaid looked decidedly wary. His gaze slanted to the Queen and Helen conversing at the High Table. “I know you’ve got enough on your plate.”

It was the third time he’d refused her despite his many complaints that he was short on arms-masters. Kincaid had never had a problem with her being in the practice yard before and had always welcomed her help in years past. Narrowing her eyes, Merida asked, “Has my mother spoken to you about keeping me away from the practice yards?”

“It wasn’t an actual order. More of a…strong suggestion. What with you building relationships with the Clans and spending time with your suitors and managing your own staff and all that.”

“Until when?”

The older man hesitated for so long Merida wondered if he’d respond at all. She knew that Kincaid tended to vanish at the first sign of disagreement in the Royal Family and there was a very real risk he’d sidle away as soon as the dance was over. Then he blew out a breath and said, “’Til your marriage?”

“Unbelievable!” Merida would have ripped herself away if Kincaid’s grasp hadn’t tightened. “It’s one of the few things I have left to enjoy and she—she just keeps taking—didn’t even tell me—”

“Easy, Princess. Easy! As I understand, you’ll hardly be in the castle anyway. I’ve barely seen you the past few weeks.”

Merida shook her head, too furious to speak.

Kincaid loosened his grip once he realized Merida wasn’t about to run off. After a long spell of tense silence, Kincaid cleared his throat and nodded to a group of lads not much older than Helen they spun past. “I was hoping you might dance with Brian—the tall one with the freckles. He’s feeling a bit bashful after the practice matches but perhaps…”

“I’m a better hand with swords than most of his warriors.” Merida stared him straight in the eye, throat tight. “Dad said it himself. But because I’m a _lady_ , I can only help by _dancing_.”

“Don’t underestimate how important duels in the Hall can be,” Kincaid patted her shoulder brusquely. “Now are you going to cry like a wee babe or are you going to nut up like the warrior you claim yourself to be?”

Merida laughed and it was half-amused and half despairing. She hit Kincaid hard enough on the shoulder to draw a yelp and that helped turn her smile into something a little more genuine. “You’re an overprotective hen. The only one who’s about to cry is Brian if nobody dances with him. And yes, of course, I’ll help.”

The next hour was the best time Merida had the whole night. With a little coaxing, Merida danced not only with Brian but also with many of the new recruits. Brian, Merida discovered, was an enthusiastic dancer and was renowned in his village for his reels. They were good boys, her father’s new recruits, and she wished them well in their training. But no matter how artfully she steered the conversation, she couldn't escape the Vikings. Even after she’d begged off dancing and remained in the sidelines, it seemed that a lady was constantly at her elbow asking after her health, a warrior begged for details about the fire, and a few even chortled at her expense.

"First time in ten years you've needed help. And you get rescued by a Viking named _Hiccup_ no less."

The black look Merida cast on him made the warrior, one of her father’s oldest and most trusted veterans, swallow the rest of his laughter. "Erm, not that you wouldn't have sorted it out on your own, Princess."

He saluted her, then went off to congratulate Hiccup himself. While she’d been dancing, the Viking had slowly been surrounded by his new admirers. Warriors patted him on the shoulder while the younger boys asked him questions; Hiccup’s brow was creased as he focused on one before another interrupted, then another. Helen and her entourage joined the group. The Macintosh girl spoke to the boys then spoke slowly and clearly to Hiccup. Hiccup nodded and blushed.

“The menu was absolutely delicious, Princess,” said Lady Deidre, “I hear you hand-picked the food yourself?”

“All the credits goes to Lady Helen.” Merida hid her grimace by taking a swallow of wine. She could guess the direction of this conversation and wished for an easy exit. “Even the silverware and the tablecloth!”

“You’re too kind. But Lady Helen is a sweet child and deserves every kindness. She’ll be a great beauty and a treasure to Clan Macintosh.”

“She’ll grow up just like her brother.” At the ladies’ furrowed brows, Merida coughed. “Ah, pardon. Wine went down the wrong way.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about the fire, Princess,” said Lady Angharad during a lull in the music. “It was good that the young Viking was there to help you. They can be scary at times but helpful in others. To think of the harm that might have befallen you!”

“Aye, don't forget their arms! Those Vikings have got a set of ‘em,” Angharad’s mother, Lady Muriel, bellowed so loudly that many people around them stared. Even the group surrounding Hiccup had looked up at Lady Muriel’s pronouncement. For the second time that evening, Hiccup and Merida’s gazes locked. Merida’s cheeks turned red, but she refused to look away. Instead, she gritted her teeth and raised a brow in challenge.

“Mother, I heard he ripped her dress off." Lady Angharad’s blushed at her mother’s faux pas. The old woman’s hearing had been slipping in the last year, though the Lady Muriel insisted it wasn’t. “Apologies, Princess.”

"Wish he ripped _my_ dress off,” Muriel continued, following the direction of Merida’s gaze. Muriel smacked her lips together. “Let me tell you, Princess. In my younger days—”

“If you could excuse me, my brothers need my attention.” Merida curtsied to the ladies and walked away. She wasn’t sure how many of her mother’s rules she had broken with that move: _A Princess does not interrupt her elders_ , _A Princess listens to her subjects, A Princess does not glare at her guests._ This Princess was close to screaming like a banshee at the next person who praised the Vikings. Mindful of Lady Muriel’s and Lady Angarad’s stares, she frantically scanned the room for her brothers and found them at their seats on the High Table.

They were listening with rapt attention to Stoick, who was continuing his stories for a smaller crowd. They didn’t even do so much when the lords told stories about their own sons. They only did that when they were listening stories of _her_ adventures.

Merida pressed her lips together to stifle a cry of frustration. She wanted to be outside, to ride, to shoot, to do _something_ other than staying inside the stupid hall being told how wonderful that stupid Viking.

Not for the first time, the atmosphere inside the Great Hall had turned claustrophobic. She felt suffocated. Trapped. Embarrassment, helplessness and frustration swept through her in a dizzying maelstrom and she could do nothing but smile and act as if everything was perfectly fine. It was all _that Viking’s_ fault.

_Are you really going to let small-minded, petty men dictate your mood?_

Merida stiffened. Memories of a different feast at a different clan stronghold flooded through her. She’d been furious then but the Roman… The Roman had given her some advice.

* * *

 

_"Are you really going to let small-minded, petty men dictate your mood?"_

_It was the first sentence he had spoken to her all evening long apart from the obligatory, "Good evening, Princess Merida." Merida glared at the Roman General, who had slipped into the quiet of the stables. She considered hurling Angus's curry brush at him. A hundred of her mother's "A Princess is (not)…” rules filled her mind but not a single one stopped her. Rather, she remembered the lightning quick way he caught the practice sword she’d thrown his way last time and decided a curry brush wouldn’t do much damage._

_“Are you here to lecture me too?" Merida concentrated on working the brush through Angus's already glossy black coat. The stablehands at Hall Lommond had taken special care of the Princess’s horse as had every stablehand at every castle, hall, lodge or manor on the Princess’s itinerary. It was driving Merida to distraction. She was used to taking care of Angus’s every need since she was old enough to muck out his stable. She’d pointed this out to Helen, her newly appointed lady-in-waiting, who’d looked at her as if she was mad._

_"I don't believe in pointless actions." Andres passed behind her on his way to Starfall. The torchlight glinted on the silver broach pinning his green cloak and the buckles of the leather armour he wore underneath. Since he'd been appointed General in Antonine's Wall, Andres' attire in the various functions she’d seen him attend throughout the different castles had taken a more formal semblance. She'd yet to see him in the full lorica segmentata his father favoured, but she'd seen him in studded leather armour with a spatha and a gladius at his hip, a fine red tunic, elegant for its simple design and stitching, and once in the full flowing robes of a Roman senator. Merida had laughed at the idea of Roman togas, but she didn't laugh when she saw Andres in them._

_Merida snorted. Angus nipped at her sleeve. Her brow softened and she patted Angus's nuzzle. Outside the stable, Merida sensed rather than saw the presence of at least three men—part of Andres' newly formed Praetorian Guard. Apparently, being a General merited a cadre of bodyguards specially selected for their skill and loyalty. In the few times Merida had seen the Romans visit DunBroch or other clan strongholds, Merida had become familiar with a few by sight, if not by name. Unless she was much mistaken, Tamlin, distinctive for the short bow he always wore at his side, was standing just outside the entrance._

_"You'd be boiling mad too if your every waking hour had been taken up by Court audiences. I can't eat a slice of bread without being introduced to some lordling's cousin or a merchant's son! The only time I have to myself is when Mum locks me in the DunBroch library.” Angus stomped its feet and its hindquarters shuddered. Merida blew out a breath and forced herself to relax. She was making her own horse anxious with her irritation._

_Starfall whickered and lipped Andres' shirt. Andres placed a long, elegant hand against its muzzle, murmuring something in a language Merida didn't understand, and the horse stilled. "So you decided to insult your host because you were upset."_

_"He'll get an apology later," Merida muttered bitterly. Everyone did. Like a pretty fool, Merida had to smile, listen and act as if she cared when all she wanted to do was wring their necks. It was utterly ridiculous! What did she care about the patterns the ladies wore or the tapestries their daughters made? She was the Princess! Any input she made about a boundary dispute or a neighbours’ quarrel was blithely ignored by the lords while their sons or their wives tugged at her sleeves. She felt like a piece of bone being worried by a pack of yipping dogs._

_"You can do better than that." The familiar creak of leather filled the stables. When Merida glanced over, she saw that the General had placed a peculiar saddle on Starfall's back. Unlike most Roman saddles with its four horns, the steep pommel and back created a deep seat. It sat oddly on Starfall’s back._

_"If you think I'm going to grovel," Merida growled, "you can take your advice and shove it back to Rome."_

_Andres stared at her sidelong, grey eyes dark and even. Merida's heart ker-thumped in that curious mixture of anxiety and defiance she now associated with the Roman General. She'd already insulted a Clan Lord this evening. Why not add a Roman General to the list?_

_"Groveling doesn't suit you." A corner of his lips tilted up and his eyes did that lazy penetrating look that felt like a touch. "I was thinking about something more...satisfying."_

_"Oh?" Merida's stomach curled and she fought to keep her voice even. "Does it involve an axe and a lot of screaming?"_

_"Be realistic.” Andres’ voice was chiding and confidential, as if he was imparting some great secret. It made Merida feel like he was whispering to her though he stood several feet away, tightening Starfall’s girth. “Would you destroy or would you conquer?”_

_"Is that some kind of Roman motto?"_

_“More of a family motto. In one of my first campaigns to the East, the commander I served was ordered to destroy a rebellion brewing in the Arabian Desert. He thought to raze the port city that lay at the confluence of three rivers that fed the only useful farmlands and villages in the region. By destroying the trading port, the commander sought to starve the entire region into submission.”_

_“Smart,” Merida muttered, brow furrowed. Her fingers traced the white star on Angus’s forehead. “Instead of running an army around the desert and losing men from exposure, you end it in one decisive battle and play the waiting game in a place that has water and can easily be supported by a navy.”_

_“Just so he thought,” Andres nodded. “Tell me, is it typical for Highland Princesses to be educated in military strategy?”_

_“No.” Merida hesitated, not because she was embarrassed, but because she realized she’d never been asked that question before. The lords were much too busy shouting over each other to pay attention to any input she made. The only time they ever looked at her was when she’d been cornered into dancing with one of their sons. “For the longest time, my dad thought that I… My brothers were born so much later than me and I have no cousins from my father’s side. I suppose he thought there was a chance I’d rule as Queen and that I had better know what I was getting into. By the time my brothers came along and my mother was dead set on me marrying one of the young lords, the lessons became the only time I could spend alone with my dad. He’s hardly ever home now.”_

_Andres gave her a long, searching look. “I find it much harder to rule than it is to conquer even for an Emperor. It must be harder for a man newly crowned King.”_

_Merida hadn’t thought about it that way. The clans had been divided by tradition and pride since the fall of the ancient kingdom of Dal Riata. For hundreds of years, they’d fought and feuded with one another, so riven by their differences that only the arrival of their common enemy could unite them. Fergus had been an exceptionally talented commander to unite the disparate clan warriors into a single, effective fighting force and his wife Elinor had been an exceptionally talented stateswoman to unite the clans into one kingdom._

_“We’re an ornery, contrary lot in case you’ve not noticed,” Merida said, both exasperated and proud. “It’d take a miracle to make an Empire out of us. But you, you’re rather friendly for a Roman. You’ve visited how many clans now? Five? Seven?”_

_“I’m a very different sort of commander to my father.”_

_Merida had noticed. Titus had been content to remain behind Antonine’s Wall, but not Andres. The younger commander had expressed wishes to better acquaint himself with his northern neighbours and sought to renegotiate the trading agreement between Rome and the Highlands on behalf of the governor in Londinium. Elinor was still carefully considering the proposal, though several clan lords had already approved it. Rumours circulated from the Wall that Andres traveled extensively throughout the South and took his men with him so that they might train in different terrain. Andres could never be a friend to the Clans, not when he had the largest, closest army to the Highlands, but he might prove to be a more valuable ally than Titus._

_At the very least, he was an interesting dinner companion. It was entertaining to see how the Clan Lords tried to intimidate him. The Roman had remained immune to it all, was perfectly polite and did his best to speak Gaelic, and would only speak favourably of his host’s hospitality. Of course, the Clan Lords wouldn’t dare threaten him. More than being the King’s Guest, more than the authority over an army that he wore like a cloak, the Roman had a coiled stillness about him that bespoke of danger. Andres had simply stared in silence at a particularly ridiculous lordling and the man turned red and backed away. It was an enviable quality that Merida thought only Elinor had._

_“Are other Roman Generals like you?”_

_“No.”_

_If Osgar had said something like it, or Alan, or Niall, Merida would have rolled her eyes and scoffed. But something in Andres’s delivery, the quietness or maybe the bluntness of it all, made her wonder and guess at the stories he didn’t crow to the rooftops like any other lord. “Did you raze the trading port in the desert?”_

_“I disagreed with the General’s line of thinking. A feeling I’m sure you can empathise with.” He flashed her a little sideways smirk and Merida fought the tightening in her stomach. “Have you ever heard of the sand cities of Arabia, Princess? Palaces and temples built of sand so finely woven it glitters like a thousand jewels from leagues away. The heat is in the air, the spices, the blood, even the night. After the sun sets, it’s never dark. A net of blue, white and red stars more beautiful than any king’s hoard stretches over the sky in half-familiar shapes and stories. Men and women draped in brightly dyed cloth and marked with fine kohl walked the bazaars. You can hear twice dozen languages being spoken in their universities._

_“I thought the Emperor would appreciate being ruler of more than a city full of corpses, leagues of sand and a handful of wasted villages. I convinced the commander to give me one week. While the General blocked the ocean path with his ships, I was sent to negotiate terms of surrender. I spent but two days with the city elders before realising that the rebels were not hiding in the city. They were the city. The Elders declared themselves the centre of a great alliance that defied Roman rule.”_

_“They didn’t try to kill you?” Merida dropped her curry brush, all pretence of disinterest fading._

_“I escaped.” He lifted one shoulder and his lips quirked up. Merida knew a story lay there, if he chose to share it. “They had covered all the ports and ocean-going routes so I traveled inland, deeper into the deserts, until I finally came upon the villages. They were arming themselves for war.”_

_“Bad luck.”_

_“That turned good.” With the touch of his hand, Starfall obediently stepped out of its stall. The fine-boned animal walked past Angus and Merida with barely a flick of its ear. But for the crest of the eagle and the olive branch emblazoned on the saddle, Merida wouldn’t have thought it belonged to a Roman soldier, let alone a Roman General. “I explained the benefits of joining the Empire. We’d build aqueducts and irrigation systems to water their crops all year long; we’d provide roads and tools to improve their farms. Better yet, our merchants would come directly to them and bypass the city elders. They would join the Empire as citizens, not as subjects.”_

_Tamlin waited for Andres by the entrance. The short man stepped forward and said something in an unfamiliar language to Andres—a rough and rolling rhythm punctuated by strange inflections. Andres nodded and Tamlin disappeared into the darkness outside the stable._

_“Until the next time, Princess.” Andres tipped his head to her before vaulting up Starfall’s back. Only a man who’d spent years fighting on horseback could make it look so easy. Andres muttered something and Starfall broke into a trot._

_Merida blinked in astonishment at his hasty departure before muttering, “Oh, no, you don’t.” She scrambled up Angus’s back, not bothering with the saddle, and Angus galloped after the disappearing Roman General. Starfall and Andres were halfway through the drawbridge by the time Merida caught up with him. Angus blocked Starfall’s path with a snort and a toss of its head. Starfall stilled, nose flaring and the whites of its eyes showing. Merida vaguely remembered that Starfall was trained as a warhorse. She was glad she’d left plenty of space in between the two horses. “You made allies of the oases villages. So you starved the city?”_

_“I didn’t.” Andres was still as well, head tilted to the side. “You should be inside, Princess. You’re not suited for a night ride.”_

_“I’m not suited for many things,” Merida threw back. “That’s never stopped me before.” The night was dark and cloudy. Fog rose heavy and thick from Loch Lommond, cloaking the Hall and its surroundings in a layer that made it difficult to see more than a few feet. Only the jingle of bit and the stamp of hooves indicated the presence of the Praetorian Guard nearby. Even Andres was obscured from view every so often. “The alliance was already crumbling but you didn’t want to wait until the army marched, not when you’d taken great pains to avoid razing it. You needed to act quickly and decisively. You targeted the city elders. How?”_

_A heavy, warm cloth settled over her head and shoulders. Surprised, Merida tugged at the green fabric. “You don’t have to give me your—”_

_“I realise that my father’s gift was inappropriate. Think of the cloak as my gift to you.” As if to prove his point, thunder rumbled overhead. Merida paused, disgruntled, but the rain was beginning to soak her fine gown clean through. Merida swirled the cloak around her; it was still warm from his body and carried a curious, metallic scent. Andres spoke while water trickled down his temples and his shirt darkened under the moisture. “The oases villages sent men to the city to reinforce their troops as agreed. It was easy to disguise a few men and myself as one of the desert warriors. We took the city with only seven deaths.”_

_“You killed the city elders in their sleep?”_

_“It was neater that way.”_

_Merida considered that for a moment before saying, deadpan, “That’s not an option for me.”_

_Andres laughed. It was the first time she’d ever heard it—surprised, loud and somehow so very young. His teeth flashed white in the dark. “You don’t scare easily, Your Highness.”_

_“You can call me by my name, you know. You know me better by now.”_

_He smiled at her then, an odd little smirk that tugged at Merida’s belly. “I do,” he said slowly, as if tasting the words, “don’t I?”_

_“How old are you?”_

_The question surprised her as much as it did him. Andres blinked. “I…am not—”_

_“Oh never mind,” Merida said hurriedly. She knew she was blushing bright red. “It was a stupid question. You seemed much older than me the first time we met but now I’m not so sure. Anyway—you made allies of your enemies and conquered a city with no loss of life on your side. Am I missing anything?”_

_“I proved that that my superior was wrong,” Andres smiled and Merida felt the bottom of her stomach tighten. Of course. The initial argument that started entire mess. “It’s not enough that you say a man is a fool, Merida. You show that he is. And… I am not quite ten years your elder.”_

_Merida felt her lips curl upwards as she adjusted the cloak about her. Her questing fingers bumped against something solid and she traced its outline through the fabric. Her head snapped back to Andres, who had urged Starfall past her._

_“Is this a hidden pocket with a dagger?” she asked, shock and intrigue warring in her voice._

_“For the girl with hidden depths,” Andres tossed back._

* * *

 

Merida stared at him, mouth parted. A voice in her mind that sounded like her mother rang with warnings. It was inappropriate. She should turn the gift away. Titus’s present was perfectly adequate. But Merida said nothing. Instead, she watched Andres disappear into the darkness in a silence that somehow seemed heavier than the rain.

Merida narrowed her eyes. Andres was right. Actions did speak louder than words. If this ‘dragon conqueror’ really was everything they said he was, well then.... She thought of a few things he could do to convince her.

Straightening her back, Merida walked purposefully to that Viking and his pack of doddering admirers. The Viking looked up at her approach—guarded but also expectant. Helen shushed everyone so Merida’s voice could be clearly heard above the din.

“My Lord, might I have this dance?”


	14. The Queen's Tooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Princess of the Highlands tests the mettle of this so-called Dragon Conqueror of Berk by challenging him to climb the Queen's Tooth.

Stoick’s campaign to turn Hiccup into the most fearsome dragon killer since the days of Grimsbeard the Ghastly was an unqualified success. Hiccup couldn’t remember a time he was so popular even among his own people. Fresh faced warriors toasted his skills; wide-eyed boys begged for more stories; pretty girls, no, ladies, with soft hands and jewel-bright gowns, asked him about Berk. Hiccup had never been more mortified.

He understood the Chief’s reasoning even if he didn’t appreciate the tactics. The Highlanders could never know how much Berk needed the trade, or prices would increase. By weaving a tapestry of conquered dragons and death-defying adventures, the Chief reminded everyone of what Vikings were—a proud, independent warrior people who conquered impossible odds every single day—without ever so much as invoking the memory of the bloody feud with Highlanders.

It was a masterstroke. It was all a lie.

It reminded Hiccup too much of the time the villagers had thought him a dragon-killing prodigy. How soon would the Highlanders turn on them if they found out the truth? So, Hiccup did his best to simply nod when asked questions, or shrug and explain that he didn’t speak much Gaelic. That didn’t stop the ladies from asking him for a dance.

“I don’t know a single dance in your Court,” he’d explained to Helen, the beautiful girl he’d mistaken to be the Princess hours earlier. The music was similar, certain songs were even the same, but the dances were very different. The DunBroch Court moved in intricate patterns on the dance floor—pairing up, breaking apart, joining groups then returning to the same pair. It intimidated him as much as the cleanliness and fine manners that seemed to dominate the hall. He spotted Raventongue and Vex doing their best to follow along; the fishermen were quick with their feet and quick to make their partners laugh. Hiccup knew he’d never be so graceful.

“Milady, isn’t that Brian?” One of Helen’s companions pointed to the dance floor. In the background, a violin began a haunting tune that hushed the Hall.

“I’m surprised he’d show his face after what happened in the practice yards,” said a nearby warrior. The girls giggled at hearing about Brian’s accident during the practice yard.

The drums thundered in the Hall, a cheer rose from a pack of boys and a smaller group moved in concert in the center.

“Is Brian partnered with the Princess?” asked another lady.

“What?” Helen demanded and turned to search the dance floor. “But Brian’s not on the list of suitable—”

Helen’s words were lost in the din as the boys laughed and let out wolfish whistles. They rushed to the sidelines much to the dismay of the ladies.

Through a gap in the crowd, he glimpsed the Princess’s flame-bright hair and heard a clear, wild laugh. The Princess might not be the most beautiful woman in the room, but Hiccup knew deep in his bones that she was the finest dancer. She had an instinctive sense of the pulse in the music, a liquid easiness in her limbs that made her appear to float, and an unreserved enjoyment that drew the eye.

Her partner Brian, a boy of only fourteen or fifteen, was not so graceful. He knew the steps to the dance, but his eyes kept darting to the crowd surrounding them. He looked terrified, and Hiccup couldn’t blame him.

The first circuit finished, the drums boomed once more and the music picked up speed for the second circuit. Brian stumbled, but caught himself in time. Laughter erupted from the warriors and he turned beet red. The Princess, the next time they linked hands once more, said something Hiccup doubted any but Brian could hear. The boy shook his head, amazement in his face, and the Princess waggled her brows. Brian guffawed.

From then on, Brian no longer paid any attention to the people surrounding them. He kept his focus on the Princess who told stories no one else could hear and stuck her tongue out at the warriors who catcalled or interrupted their conversation. Once, she made a rude gesture that set everybody around them laughing. By the end of the third circuit, the tempo had increased twofold and only the Princess and her partner were keeping time. At the music’s end, Brian whirled the Princess for a final extra flourish. Everyone burst into applause.

The dancers bowed to one another. The Princess laughed and ruffled Brian’s hair. In a voice clearly heard above the din, she said, “Thank you for the best dance I’ve had in weeks, Brian of Ada. You’re every bit as good a dancer as the young lords.”

The crowd ooh-end approvingly. At Hiccup’s confusion, Helen murmured, “The young lords are the firstborn of the three largest clans, and the finest dancers besides. My brother Osgar and the Princess can complete the dance without one mistake.”

“Brian is only a crofter’s son, you see,” added another of Helen’s companion. “He’s not even supposed to be able to dance with the Princess.”

“Because he’s low born?”

The ladies glanced at one another and it was all the response Hiccup needed. The offer of the first dance must have been intended as a great honor to a Viking if the Princess wasn’t even meant to dance with the low born of her people. Hiccup wasn’t sure which he preferred—the Highlanders’ excessive gallantry because of his fake exploits or the Hooligans’ scorn because of his true deeds.

“The Princess’s time is very valuable,” Helen said firmly. “My Lord, you were just telling us about Berk…”

Hiccup’s confidence at what little ability he had to dissemble was slowly crushed under the growing number of people around him. He was desperate to retreat. The implicit social hierarchy in DunBroch and the dangers it implied for the Vikings’ trade prospects simmered in the back of his mind.

“No, I can’t dance,” Hiccup said to the fifth lady who asked. She was a pretty girl in a lemon yellow gown and she pouted at his response.

“Compliments to your rescue of the Princess!” said an older warrior with a toast.

“It was no problem,” Hiccup muttered. He glanced at the dance floor where he’d last seen the Princess dancing with a different partner. The Princess was nowhere to be found. Hiccup craned his neck, trying to spot the distinctive red hair, but she wasn’t among the dancers.

“You Vikings must have practice putting out fires.”

“Slight difference between putting out a longhouse and putting out a Princess.”

“You’re so funny, Lord Hiccup,” said another lady with a hand on his arm. “Would you like to dance?”

“Just Hiccup. And no, sorry.” Hiccup’s shoulder hunched. He felt like a piece of meat being worried by a pack of Terrible Terrors. “I don’t know how.”

“I can teach—”

“Aye, don't forget their arms! Those Vikings have got a set of ‘em!”

Hiccup glanced up. The announcement came from an elderly lady who spoke to the Princess. The Princess glanced his way, cheeks red, and lifted her chin. Hiccup dropped his gaze.

Right. She was still furious. Blowing out a breath, Hiccup explained to the lady that he was not a good dancer and had two left feet even when he only had his right. More difficult to dodge where the questions about the dragons—how they were killed; what weapons were best for which dragons. Hiccup had the worst time recalling Stoick’s false stories and had to be prompted several times. The sickened feeling returned, stronger than ever. The trade agreements were built on a delicate house of lies. A slip of the tongue would send it crashing down.

It was almost a relief when he caught a flash of red and saw the Princess’s determined form approach him. Warily, he stood up and bowed.

“My Lord, might I have this dance?”

“No!” The answer was out of his mouth before he could even process the question. Panic shot through his veins at the thought of standing up with the Princess, a girl who danced with fire in her blood and a storm in her smile, while he—he was gawky, uncoordinated, the worst Viking to ever live.

The people crowding him went dead silent. The reaction was not dissimilar to when a seven-year-old Hiccup had announced he preferred roasted fish to roasted chicken to a table full of Viking elders. Then one of the ladies giggled, then another and another. The Princess’s expression, to her credit, didn’t waver though a pretty flush rose in her cheeks. She bowed. “Some other time perhaps.”

The realization of what it looked like he’d done, combined with the possible consequences of said actions, made the blood drain from Hiccup’s face. _How do I get myself into these situations?_ he wondered feverishly. _It would just be like me to starve Berk to death because I set a Princess on fire, ripped her clothes off and publicly humiliated her in front of her own Court only six hours later._ Eyes wide, Hiccup amended, “I don’t—”

“One rejection is sufficient, Sir,” the Princess said, rising slowly. The movement was demure but for the fire in her eyes. “I am not hard of hearing.”

“I’m not rejecting you!” It took a moment of seeing the scrunched up faces of the people around him before Hiccup realized he’d said it in Norse. The Princess turned away and Hiccup felt Berk’s chances slipping through his fingers. He took three quick steps to the Princess and touched her arm. Breath fast and hands clammy, he choked out, “I don’t know how to dance.”

Blue eyes looked him up and down speculatively before taking one step too close. The unnerving chatter, the din of clanking cups on wood, the bagpipes and lutes all faded into the background. His heart skipped a beat then lurched to a faster tempo. The air suddenly became hard to breathe as though he’d passed far beyond the clouds. Hiccup wondered if that happened around her naturally or just around the people she intended to do bodily harm. Her smile, when it appeared, was cool and amused. “So there is something you can’t do.”

“Uhh,” he muttered, like the intelligent Viking he professed himself to be. Eyes darting to the people surrounding them, Hiccup decided to gamble. “I can walk.”

“Your accomplishments astonish me.”

“That is, may I escort you around the hall?” Irritation, embarrassment and desperation made Hiccup’s spine stiff. He’d have apologized but of course the Princess elected to draw swords instead. But he couldn’t afford to be quarreling with anybody from the Highlands. _Berk_ couldn’t afford it. Leaning closer, he offered the only white flag he could: “I promise to stay away from candles and liquor if you promise to refrain from physical violence.”

The Princess dropped her gaze and Hiccup felt like he could breathe again. When she looked up at him, her smile was rueful and girlish. It terrified Hiccup more than her honest fury ever had. “I asked you to dance because I wanted to apologize. I wasn’t thinking straight and I was…very ungenerous. I hoped you might let me make it up to you somehow. Perhaps a tour of the town?”

Mind reeling, Hiccup stared, doubted, opened his mouth, and then closed it.

“Princess Merida! Hiccup!”

Merida stepped away from him and Hiccup watched her go. The Queen was before them, eyes darting from him to the Princess and back again. Helen was by Elinor’s side, an anxious smile plastered on her face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourselves?”

“Err, yes! Very much!” As if to emphasize his point, a roar of laughter went up from a nearby group of Vikings. Vex slammed his cup down and the metal folded under the brute force. “Eh, sorry about the silverware.”

“That’s quite all right, dear,” said the Queen though Helen winced.

“Mother, I was just asking if the Viking would like a tour of the town tomorrow morning before he left.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, Merida! Hiccup, you’ll enjoy the market. _Skalds_ and minstrels like to compete against one another by seeing who draws the loudest applause.”

The Queen’s smile felt like a noose. Hiccup recalled Stoick’s earlier admonition that the Queen was the deciding factor in their negotiation, the person they must convince above all else. Stomach sinking, he mustered a smile. “Sure. Sounds fun.”

 

* * *

 

When Hiccup appeared at the courtyard the next day, his distinctive gronckle metal shield was strapped to his back and he wore his sturdiest boots. The polished shield emblazoned with the dragon with one tail fin gleamed brightly in the early morning sunlight and drew the stares of several onlookers. Hiccup felt a little ridiculous, but reminded himself that there was a distinct possibility the Princess’s invitation had been a thinly disguised attempt to murder him in some out-of-the-way place. If so, then the shield would give him a fighting chance to make a run for it. If it added to his Viking image, well, that was just a side benefit.

The thought didn’t stop him from flushing horribly when the Princess let out a slow whistle at the shield when she came into the castle courtyard on Angus. “Going to war against the town?” she asked. At Hiccup’s soft mumble, she snickered and added, “Or are you just that afraid of me?”

Hiccup shot her a look, but didn’t say anything. There was a little truth in that. The princess didn't carry a knife about her person that he could see but like Astrid, she moved with all the calm competence of someone who carried several sharp, dangerous instruments about her. In fact, everything about the Princess, her dress, her manner, belied a liquid sense of confidence that seemed somehow more comfortable to her than the gown and cold, austere beauty she had worn like armor on the previous day. His eyes lingered on the bow and arrows strapped to the girl’s saddle and he remembered her threat to use him as target practice.

Hiccup forced the thought away and focused on the horse Merida was leading by the reins. It was the same horrid beast that had bitten him once in the knee already. It eyed him with equal amounts of suspicion and dislike. There was a distinct pause as Hiccup tried to decide whether it was worth the embarrassment of scrambling up its back and potentially falling or asking if he could just walk.

“I’ll hold the reins while you mount up,” the Princess said suddenly. At Hiccup’s startled glance, she added, “It’s a long walk. We can’t dawdle all day when you’ve a ship to catch.”

The cool metal still felt horribly small and slick for his prosthetic foot. It wouldn’t take much urging from the Princess to jerk the horse and cause him to slip off just as he was mounting. He glanced up at her again and she raised an imperious brow. “Well?”

Whether it was because of the Princess’s steadying hand or the animal was finally getting used to him, the horse only shifted in place and flicked its ears in annoyance when Hiccup finally settled on top. The Princess silently gave him the reins and set Angus on a brisk walk out the castle gates. She waved her hand absently at the “Milady Princess!” or “Good morning, Princess” that came their way. Hiccup wondered if these people would remember seeing the Princess walking out with him once his father started questioning his disappearance. The Viking shook his head.

Highland horses were powerful beasts. Their long strides swallowed the distance and soon Hiccup couldn’t see the castle or hear the calls of various servants or castellans. While it was nothing compared to dragonflight, Hiccup could definitely see the advantages of riding horses. Transport throughout the island would be much faster and learning to ride horses would surely be easier than learning to ride dragons. If he could—

The horse reared.

Hiccup clamped his legs desperately and tried not to fall off. The horse grunted and bucked twice more. At the Princess’s sharp call, the animal settled, but not before rolling a baleful glance at him.

“I wouldn’t daydream if I were you,” said the Princess, expression carefully straight but for the hint of laughter in her eyes. She had stopped her horse and turned around in her seat to face him. The sunlight streaming through the woods outlined her slim shoulders underneath a deep green cloak. “Blueberry doesn’t like you much.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Hiccup panted, heart thrumming at a quick tempo. He straightened from his slump and glared at the horse, which looked innocently out towards the woods. “I mean, she’s so gentle and docile.”

The princess snorted and crooned, “Aww, wee lamb.” At a gentle nudge, her horse resumed its brisk walk.

Following the twisting path through the woods, Hiccup was now careful to pay attention to Blueberry. The animal followed the Princess’s horse obediently, but Hiccup could see small signs of rebellion—its ear flattened in annoyance, it let out great huffing breaths and every so often it would glance back at him. “I know you don’t like me much,” he said. “But we’re both stuck with each other for a couple more hours. Let’s just try and get along, huh?” The horse huffed.

The path through the woods narrowed and twisting tree roots choked the ground. It was all Hiccup could do to guide his horse safely through. How the Princess managed to guide her mount so effortlessly was a mystery to Hiccup, who had to fight with his own horse for every turn and sidling step through the treacherous path. The Princess barely seemed to glance at the ground and Angus picked his way quickly and with ease.

Blueberry grew more and more hostile as time went by. She fought the bit and tried once or twice to bite Hiccup again. The Princess and her horse had disappeared beyond a turn when Hiccup’s horse started bucking. The motion was so abrupt that Hiccup didn’t even have the chance to cling to the reins before he was tossed to the ground.

“There’s another bridge ahead,” called the Princess. “You might want to keep Blueberry—Oh dear.” She had just turned back and caught sight of him lying on the ground. She didn’t sound particularly perturbed as she asked, “Is he dead, Angus?” Angus nudged him hopefully.

“Is this where you hide the bodies of your victims?” Hiccup asked, opening his eyes blearily. Blueberry was already trotting away, tail held high at its success at bucking off her rider.

The Princess snorted and looked down, blue eyes gleaming in the morning light. Though the intent was not entirely friendly and while Hiccup was still plenty cautious about the girl, he decided he liked this version of the Princess better than the silent, coldly furious girl who had shown him around the castle. At least this one was similar to the version he met outside the castle gates. Hiccup wondered irritably if women in general were prone to so many different moods or whether this was a peculiarity only found amongst Highlanders or Princesses or, given his luck, Highland princesses.

“What, and do what the dragon queen with wings the length of 50 longships from end to end could not?” The ride seemed to improve the Princess’s mood as well. Something in her manner seemed to lighten somewhat from the stiff tension she had been holding, but it would have been a mistake to say she was relaxed. There was a sort of a fluid hunger in her movements, an eagerness that Hiccup could almost, but not quite, say gave off an imperceptible haze of quivering energy. While her confidence was similar to Astrid's, her anticipation was nothing like Hiccup had ever seen in anyone before. It was… distracting. And alarming. “I did get that right, didn’t I? The Red Death had wings that blotted out the sun?”

“Yes,” Hiccup replied, his rise to a hunched sitting position making the word come out in a gasp. Having been accustomed to many falls from riding dragons, Hiccup wasn’t terribly hurt. But the ground never got any softer after all the emergency crash landings and the sides of his gronckle metal shield dug painfully into his back. “Why so curious? You didn’t seem all that interested yesterday.”

“Just being friendly,” she said, before nudging Angus forward so she could catch the reins of his horse. It was Hiccup’s turn to snort.

He stood up and rotated his right shoulder gingerly. The day was warm, warmer than a summer’s day in Berk, and Hiccup had eschewed his thicker, long sleeved tunics and breeches for a lighter linen shirt and comfortable, sturdy trousers. He didn’t wear a cloak or sword, but he had used one of the leather belts from his armor to strap a long dagger against his side and the gronckle metal shield against his back.

“Just think, the Red Death went through all that trouble when all it had to do was put you on top of a horse,” she smirked as she caught Hiccup’s mount and brought it back to him with arrogant ease. Her eyes surveyed Hiccup up and down as the Viking mounted with some difficulty. "You're not much of a rider, are you?"

_Oh, you’re on_ , Hiccup thought, disgruntled. _You and your Thor-blasted horses versus Toothless and me in any race you can think of._

Something of his thoughts must have shown in his expression. The Highlander cocked her head to the side, playful intrigue giving her face an elfish cast as she gazed at him steadily, almost expectantly.

“We don't have a lot of horses in Berk. The terrain isn't good for them.” Hiccup turned his head away. _Think about the tribe_ , Hiccup reminded himself. _We need this trade to work_. “If you’re not going to murder me,” Hiccup cleared his throat, “and we’re not going to town, then where are we going?” Even though he’d been distracted by Blueberry’s antics, there was no way the path they’d taken to get to the castle was this difficult. He didn’t think the bridge would have carried the weight of all the Vikings plus their horses.

He thought he heard her sigh, but he couldn’t be sure. “I thought you might appreciate a closer look at the countryside.”

“Oh, pretty,” Hiccup agreed with some asperity as the horses started off once more. “It’s not as if I’ve ever seen wilderness or forests. I just love trees and steep, narrow mountain trails.”

“You’re a picky hero,” the Princess observed. Her expression was perfectly bland as she asked, “How ever did you manage to kill the Red Death while you were complaining to it about the roads?"

“It’s called multitasking.” The words shot out before his brain could catch up with his mouth. “It’s kind of a necessity when you’re fighting dragons all the time.”

“You’re so good at it,” the Princess agreed, all sweetness and flattery. Hiccup narrowed his eyes as she continued, “Riding and breathing at the same time is so impressive.”

They paused and stared at each other, assessing each other’s parries and ripostes. A corner of Hiccup’s mouth lifted. He couldn’t help it. It was a rare person in Berk, no, the entire Barbaric Archipelago, who could not only pick up on his sarcasm but give as good as he or she got.

The Princess drew back, surprise and confusion crossing her face. She shook her head and clapped her heels to Angus’s side. “Come on,” she called. “We’ve still a way to go. And you can tell me all about the Red Death. I don’t think I heard enough of it last night.”

The path broadened into a much-traveled road. They passed farmers carrying cartloads of grain, shepherds tending to their flock and small groups of hunters. It was a cheerful, peaceful prospect that Hiccup might have enjoyed if not for the Princess’s questions.

She prodded Hiccup for details of the battle with the Red Death. Though it was an event oft-celebrated and much re-told in evening gatherings and celebrations, the story wasn’t something Hiccup liked to tell himself. Recounting it made the memories sharper and more vivid. He didn’t want to remember the biting heat, the hot-white flash of pain from his leg, the bright, bright flame that burned the sky to ashes. His memories were sketchy at best, and it didn’t help that the Princess’s questions were extremely specific. The more Hiccup answered (or lied when necessary), the more ridiculous he sounded. Hiccup’s victory over the Red Death sounded fine when told in Stoick’s booming voice and with his gravitas, but when the Princess started asking how exactly Hiccup had managed to outrun a dragon the size of a mountain it started falling apart like a basket holding water.

His companion was so intent on her questions and Hiccup so intent on avoiding them that he almost didn’t notice the thundering approach of horsemen. When Hiccup glanced up, he saw thickly muscled men wearing woolen cloaks, red kilts and leather armor riding so fast that travelers in their path were forced to jump aside or else be trampled.

“Let me get this straight,” continued the Princess, eyes focused on Hiccup. She huffed to remove a stray curl from her eyes and tucked it back once more into her hood. (After the twentieth hail, followed by questions asking after her father and mother’s health, the Princess had pulled the hood of her cloak over her face.)   “You managed to shoot holes in the Red Death’s wings using your cata—”

“Later,” Hiccup snapped curtly. His unexpected, earlier good humor had vanished after the ridiculous circle he’d been forced to dance around the Princess’s questions. To her credit, only her soft, indrawn breath belied her irritation.

His eyes narrowed as a young mother snatched her young son aside and then called out in panic to an older boy behind her tending a small flock of cattle. The boy, eyes huge in his white face, threw himself at a particularly stubborn dun coloured beast that lowed apathetically before lowering its head to nose at the grass on its feet.

“Hey! Hey!” Hiccup shouted, waving his arms at the fast-approaching group. He urged Blueberry closer to the shepherd boy and shouted at the riders. “There are people ahead of you! You can’t just—” If they heard, they gave no sign. It was hard to tell their expressions beneath the leather caps slung low over their eyes. Blueberry whickered nervously. The young shepherd boy screamed as he pushed at the cow. It moved a few steps but it still lay directly in the path of the party.

Without thinking, Hiccup jumped off Blueberry. He landed with a huff on the soft earth but pelted immediately to the boy’s side. Together, they heaved at the beast. When Hiccup spared a glance upwards, the horsemen were close enough Hiccup could   make out the design on the banner being carried by one of the lead riders—a red boar with sharp tusks on a dark green field.

A whistle split the air, followed by a resounding thwack. The banner snapped backwards, almost tossing its carrier off his saddle. The motion so startled the horse that it reared. Within moments, the group of horsemen came to a screeching halt as horses slid to a stop and reared, or bit each other in confusion.

“Settle your mounts or I’ll take their heads,” snarled a gruff voice. “Are you fools?”

“Someone shot at us, Lord DunFell! Look! The pole’s got an arrow in it!”

“You!” shouted a deep voice. The second biggest Highlander Hiccup had ever seen appeared from the confusion of horseflesh. A dirty straw-colored beard shorn close to the skin framed his round face. His nose, upturned and prominent, overshadowed a small, cruel mouth. His eyes were large, deep-set and a furious blue — and aimed squarely at Hiccup. Despite his rough appearance, his sword gleamed brightly as he drew it from its scabbard and pointed it at Hiccup. “I’ve flayed men for less!”

“Are you crazy?” Hiccup shouted, mouth dry. All thoughts of comporting himself as a proper Viking immediately vanished from his mind. He felt the young boy beside him shrink in fear. “I don’t even have a bow! And what were you thinking riding like that on a busy road?! You could have killed somebody!”

“You’ve a smart mouth for a beanpole,” the man said, bristling. “Let’s see how loud you scream.” By now his warriors had reordered themselves behind him and had also drawn their blades. _You’re in for it now, Hiccup_ , he told himself. Quickly, he slung his shield on his left arm and pushed the shepherd behind him.

“You have some nerve to threaten a king’s guest,” said the Princess, her horse coming to a stand beside Hiccup, “especially after such poor treatment of the king’s people.” The princess held up her bow with an easy self-assurance that revealed dangerous competence. “I shot your bannerman, Lord DunFell, not either of these boys. If you have a quarrel, take it up with me.”

Lord DunFell tilted his head back, eyes narrowing on the Princess’s hooded form. “And you are?”

“I am Merida,” said the girl, sweeping her hood back and shaking her curls free.   She narrowed cold, scornful eyes at Lord DunFell. “ _Firstborn_ of Clan DunBroch.”

“Princess Merida,” gasped the young shepherd from behind Hiccup. He immediately sank to one knee. There was a gasp of “Your Highness” from the shepherd’s mother and younger brother who had ran up to them. They too dropped to their knees.

There was a ripple of surprise from the DunFell warriors. They glanced uneasily at each other and their swords drooped point downward. Lord DunFell’s grip on his sword slackened but it would be a mistake to say he relaxed. His face was neither astonished nor hesitant. Instead, his eyes moved in a curious and calculating manner over the Princess’s form.

“I remember you,” he said Lord DunFell suddenly. “You were the wee babe who cowered at thunderstorms.”

“You’re mistaken,” said the girl in a cool, civil tone. “Princesses do not cower.” Her fingers tightened around her bow, so much so that it creaked. “Now apologize to these lads.”

“Or else?” the man asked in a mocking tone. “We’re all out of manners where we live, Princess. Apologies are hard to cough out.” Behind him, his men snickered.

“Then perhaps you’ll understand inhospitality,” said the Princess, voice hardening. “Clan DunBroch does not take kindly to rude travellers.” Hiccup felt his brows shoot up at the unmistakable threat in her voice and he gripped his shield more firmly. Was she trying to provoke an attack?

Lord DunFell’s amused face died into a sour, sullen expression. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, and his warriors settled into a dangerous stillness. Hiccup recognized that look. It was a familiar expression; Alvin wore it right before he attacked.

Hiccup’s heart started hammering in his chest.

The Princess’s left hand was steady at her bow, but her right drifted to the quiver of arrows strapped to Angus’s side. Her blue eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Lord DunFell. If her earlier display of archery was any indication, Hiccup realized that it would take Merida only a few seconds to draw an arrow and, at this distance, bury it in Lord DunFell’s face.

Despite the explosive nature of the situation, Hiccup felt a little in awe of the girl. If she was at all cowed by the much larger, older man or his brawny warriors, none of it showed on her face. Unfortunately, none of that was going to save them from being chopped up into bits. A growing murmur from behind them gave Hiccup an idea.

“I’m sure Lord DunFell recognized his mistake,” said Hiccup loudly, straightening up and putting a hand lightly on the Princess’s stirrup. Heart hammering in his throat, he willed his voice to casual nonchalance. “It’s such a busy road with so many travellers.”

Lord DunFell’s eyes flicked to Hiccup then behind the Princess. A sizeable group of farmers, villagers and herdsmen had gathered close at the sound of confrontation. Their necks craned eagerly to catch sight of the Princess.

_Come on_ , Hiccup urged, _don’t be stupid._ _You can’t kill us all... I hope._

“Apologies,” Lord DunFell finally bit out. “I didn’t realise Her Highness was traveling on this road by herself.” He glanced behind him and nodded at his men. They sheathed their swords. “The roads are a dangerous place.”

“It’s only dangerous for people who don’t watch where they’re going,” said the Princess serenely. Hiccup’s hand on her stirrup rose and tightened on her ankle. She kicked it away surreptitiously. “We thank you for your courtesy, milord. Please be on your way.” With a flick of her wrist, she gestured for them to move ahead.

Slowly, the clan chief and his warriors walked past.

Hiccup let out a long exhale as soon as they were out of earshot. “Do you have a death wish?” he hissed, glaring at the Princess who had resolutely stared ahead instead of keeping a close eye on the vanishing warriors.

“Says the lad who jumped in front of stampeding horses,” she hissed back, annoyance ruining her calm, composed expression.

“I was trying to save a little boy!”

“Apparently, I saved two wee lads!”

“Erm, Princess?” interrupted said little boy. Hiccup and the Princess drew back from each other. They had both been so intent on the other, they hadn’t realized the small crowd now gathering close around them. The boy was staring at Merida with wide, worshipful eyes. Hiccup noticed that none of the gratitude was directed his way. Typical. “Princess Merida, thank you so much!” He bowed once more to the girl. It was as if a spell was broken. Soon, the Princess was surrounded by the travellers all wishing to give their thanks or bestow upon them some small tokens of gratitude—a bushel of apples or freshly baked bread.

Hiccup drew away and remounted Blueberry. Thankfully, the animal had not wandered far. He stared broodingly at the Princess and compared her smiling face and gracious manners to the biting words and sharper wit from earlier and finally to her cold, regal pride that demanded respect from men twice her age and three times her size though it be taken through blood and sword. She was impossible—insane.

An apple nearly smacked Hiccup’s forehead. He fumbled with the red fruit then glared at the Princess. “What did I tell you about daydreaming?” she asked, crunching noisily on her own apple. The crowd had dispersed by this time and left only the two mounted horsemen standing at the road.

Hiccup muttered something impolite to Blueberry’s mane.

“What’s that?” the Princess asked loudly. “D’you want to turn back?” One side of her mouth bulged with a large bite of apple and a little juice spilled from the corner of her mouth. She looked ridiculous.

Hiccup shook his head ruefully. “You really don’t know when to stop, do you?”

“Sure I do,” she answered easily. At Hiccup’s disbelieving stare, she added, “I’m just choosy over what I stop for.”

“Clearly, being outnumbered ten to one doesn’t qualify.”

She shot him a wicked little smile that was equal parts danger and playfulness. “A dragon bigger than a castle would probably give me pause.”

“Only natural disasters the scale of erupting volcanos make you stop? Good to know. That says a lot about you.” He added underneath his breath, “And your lack of common sense.”

“Of the two of us, I’m not the one who faced a dragon queen in single combat.”

“You heard that?” Hiccup stiffened, “How did you—And—it’s not a lack of common sense if you actually win!”

“I saved you and the farm boy, didn’t I?”

Hiccup glared at her. The Princess glared right back. At that moment, Hiccup’s stomach growled and the Princess laughed. “Come on. It’ll cheapen my rescue if you starved to death in the woods.”

* * *

 

They rode in silence for a little while and soon emerged from a thickly wooded area to a vast open plain ahead. Untarnished deep green turf spread out framed in one side by soaring bluffs and a waterfall. On the other side , the plain dropped sharply and gave an unrestricted view of the valley beyond. Hiccup’s jaw dropped open in sheer appreciation. The incredible sight might almost be worth the entire uncomfortable trip.

The Princess let out a whoop of excitement and kicked her dark horse into a fierce gallop. She thundered past him with a sharp, “Race ya there!” and streaked into the plain, a blur of dark and red. Her sharp laughter rang cold and clear, an elfin melody accompanied by the rhythm of galloping hooves.

Despite his worry, Hiccup couldn’t help a huff of laughter escaping his lips. Blueberry shifted eagerly underneath him and it didn’t take much to coax the mare into a light canter. It took them minutes to arrive at the base of the bluffs where the Princess had gone streaking off. Her horse trotted excitedly around a particularly rocky spire that thrust up near the waterfall.

“Would you say the dragon was taller than the Queen’s Tooth?” she asked, as Hiccup slid off his horse to stand next to her. She surveyed his descent with her hands on her hips and a small smile on her face.

   “Queen’s Tooth?” Hiccup echoed, turning to face her. Something in her manner caused the hair on Hiccup’s neck to rise. Between Blueberry’s antics and the incident with Lord DunFell’s men, Hiccup had almost forgotten the biggest danger of all—the Princess herself.

She gestured impatiently to the rocky spire closest to a waterfall. The water gushed from a height hundreds of feet taller than the spire. The stream wasn’t very broad, but it was swift. Even though Hiccup was still a distance away, he could feel the sting of water moistening his face and bare arms.

   “Bigger,” he answered reluctantly, and folded his arms.

   “Climbing it should be no problem for you then,” said the Princess, turning to the rock and tilting her head back.

   “What?” Hiccup demanded, so sharply that Blueberry jerked away from him nervously. “Why would I do that?” Hiccup had climbed his fair share of mountains along with every other Viking in Berk, but he also knew his limits. A near vertical climb on a slick rock with very limited handholds would be difficult for anyone and much more so for someone with a prosthetic limb.

   “I thought you liked exploring, Viking,” she said, flinging the last word sharply. Her last word made Hiccup start. That was it then. This whole trip had only been a test from the Princess—a way to discredit his story and his own prowess. Hiccup’s mouth firmed as he tried to decide what to do. The Princess didn’t give him that chance. To Hiccup’s alarm, she began climbing swiftly up the rock.

   “Princess, are you sure about this?” he asked, watching her steady ascent. Her foot slipped for one heart-stopping moment but her grip was firm. Hiccup let out a slow breath. It would just be his luck if the Princess ended up injured on this trip. No doubt he’d take the blame and the whole trade agreement would be called off. “Look, why don’t I just climb it by myself? You could fall and break your leg. You could be k—”

   “Yes, I could ,” said the Princess, pulling herself up. Sweat glistened on her brow as she dared a glance backwards and, incredibly, grinned at him. “Or I could reach the top. And you could reach it with me. Anything can happen.”

   He paused, remembering the smile of the mad, friendly girl he’d met outside the castle. That was her smile and she’d said the exact same thing to him at the stables then. Hiccup blew out a breath, already regretting it. He began the long climb up.

   His progress was slow, marred by his caution. He was so intent on the task, he didn’t even notice the Princess had slowed as well, almost pausing to keep pace with Hiccup’s careful climb. The princess’s face glowed with exertion and pleasure.

“Is that supposed to be the Red Death?” asked the Princess, nodding at the shield on his back. Hiccup restrained the urge to sigh. The climb was difficult enough without her prodding questions at every handhold.

“No, it’s...” Hiccup hesitated, concentrating on making sure his left leg was on a stable ledge before saying simply, “it’s the dragon with a missing tail fin.”

Merida’s brows flew up again. “Is that supposed to be you? Your personal crest?” Something in her tone made Hiccup flush in embarrassment again. His hold loosened and small rocks rained down on his head.

“No!” Hiccup snapped hotly, blinking the debris away from his eyes. Grimly, he pulled himself once more. “What’s a personal crest?”

The princess gave him an inquisitive, disbelieving look. To Hiccup’s disgust, she didn’t even seem to need to look for her handholds. She pulled herself up with only a quick glance, her movements deft and sure. “The symbol of my house, Clan DunBroch, is a sword set against four circles intertwined. The symbol of Clan MacGuffin is the cauldron and so on.”

“The Hooligans have a tribe symbol too,” grunted Hiccup, pushing himself up on his right foot. The top seemed much closer now and so far, there had been no serious mishaps. Maybe they would be able to make it up to the top and back in one piece. “Ours is the grinning horned helm.”

“I’ve seen it,” the Princess nodded. “Every once in a while, a member of the clan distinguishes him through the battlefield and he becomes known by a personal crest. Osgar Macintosh is the best swordsman in his clan. His crest is the blue wolf.”   She snorted and added a muttered, “Even though I can still knock him on his backside.”

Hiccup chuckled and considered her words. Maybe it could be considered his personal crest. The symbol of the dragon with the red left tailfin was an insignia that hung above Berk’s dragon academy but it was one that marked Hiccup’s armor and helm specifically. He had never really thought of it that way.

“Was the Red Death too big to paint on your shield?” she continued. There was a little sarcastic smirk on her face as she pulled herself up to the top.

“No,” Hiccup said, stopping short to glare up at her. He had just about had it with acting as Viking-like as possible with the Princess. It only got him in more trouble as far as he could see. The only time she had seemed to vaguely appreciate his behavior was when he’d “helped” her with Lord DunFell and that was Hiccup thinking on his feet and not acting as a Viking would (which would have been to leap headlong into the fray axe waving). “I’m not…this isn’t a personal crest. The dragon isn’t the Red Death and it’s not me. It’s about... It’s about a legend in our tribe.”

“What legend?” she asked, peering down at him as he struggled to make it the last few feet up. A rock broke from underneath his grasp and he flailed wildly for a heartbeat. Thankfully, his legs were sure and he pushed himself up the last few feet.

“About a dragon with one tail fin and a boy who helped him fly,” he gasped, crawling safely past the edge of the rocky spire. He collapsed face first into the dirt. For a few, blessed moments, there was dead silence. Hiccup savoured the rush of cool air against his limbs and the slowly steadying pace of his heart. The wind rushing past smelled like water. Hiccup slowly opened his eyes and clambered up.

   “Whoa,” he murmured. The valley from below looked wonderful, but the view from the Queen’s Tooth was breathtaking. The huge valley spread out before him, golden and bright in the sunlight. Overhead, the sky stretched a luminous azure unmarred by clouds. Rolling hills and mountains of deep, continuous green stretched in every direction. Rivers and little stream wound their way through fields of sun gold, brilliant red and sky blue flowers.   He had never imagined any place could be so wild and impossibly beautiful.

“There are no dragons in the Highlands, you know,” the Princess said suddenly. Hiccup blinked and focused on the Princess. She had shed her green cloak at the base of the spire and was adorned in a simple and sturdy dark blue gown. Her back was against the falls, rushing swift and crystal clear through the air. “At least, nothing like your dragon queen. The only dragons here are in stories and songs.”

“That’s lucky for you,” said Hiccup with a trace of irony. He focused on the stone in his hand. It was the one that had broken in his climb up. He hadn’t realized he’d been gripping it in his fist the whole time. Slowly, he passed the stone from hand to hand and considered the Princess’s words.

Dragons would have devastated the Highland countryside. This was a land of rolling fields, winding rivers and flocks of sheep and cows. There were no natural predators as far as Hiccup could see, despite Fergus’s tales of the demon bear Mor’du. But for all its bounty, Hiccup couldn’t see himself living in a land without dragons. Without Toothless. “I can’t imagine living without dragons.”

Something in the Princess’s mouth firmed. “Yes, I’m sure you’re missing the hunt already. It must be just a pure thrill to kill dragons.”

“Huh?” Hiccup asked eloquently, pausing with the stone in his left hand.

“We’ve bears and wolves and sometimes wildcats, but flying beasts that breathe fire? That’s something else,” continued the Princess as though Hiccup hadn’t spoken at all. “An enemy like no other.”

“Er, that’s not exactly what I meant,” Hiccup said, eyes wide. Her eyes were like ice and her face was devoid of all playfulness. The change in attitude made him clumsy with his words. “I mean, yeah, I doubt killing dragons is anything like killing bears but really I could do without that experience.”

“Oh?” she asked, brows raised. There was something hard and a little sarcastic in her tone for all that it maintained its politeness. “What will you miss about dragons then if not the hunt?”

Hiccup opened his mouth, then closed it. What could he say? He was supposed to be the dragon conqueror of Berk. He couldn’t explain the wonder of learning about the ways of each dragon breed, how the surprises and idiosyncrasies of each dragon made every nugget of information learned a treasure; he couldn’t could put into the words the thrill of flight, how every day wasn’t a day until he’d seen the earth from the clouds; he couldn’t explain how being with Toothless and becoming a dragon trainer had come to be the most important thing in his life, how he defined himself by it. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Hiccup shook his head. “I—I can’t explain it.”

She stared at him for a beat, confusion and frustration flashing in her sky blue eyes. Sunlight streamed in behind her, crowning her brilliant red curls in soft gold and outlining her slim shoulders. “I suppose it’s not something a princess can understand,” she said finally.

“I doubt it’s something other Vikings will understand,” Hiccup scoffed softly, focusing on the stone as he turned it over and over in his hand. Memories of Dagur and Alvin darkened his brow. “Most other tribes would like nothing better than to kill all dragons or worse.”

“And your tribe doesn’t?”

“No!” Hiccup said, so sharply that the Princess blinked in surprise. He gripped the stone tightly in his fist. Throughout the whole trip, he’d been so intent on fending off the Princess’s subtle digs that at times (many times if he was being honest with himself) he’d forgotten to act like a “proper Viking.” And, sometimes, it had been nice. Sometimes, it had felt like he was actually speaking to one of his friends from Berk — if one of them had been deliberately plotting to kill him. But now that the Princess stood there, accusing him of something that all Vikings would easily, even eagerly, admit to doing, Hiccup didn’t care one bit that he wasn’t and hadn’t been acting like a proper Viking.

“What we did that day—what I did, to kill the Red Death...” Hiccup ground his teeth in frustration at his clumsiness with words. “I didn’t kill her for glory or honour. She was forcing other dragons to raid our village for food. She was starving us all to death. That day on Dragon Island, I had to make a choice. I had to either watch my tribe get wiped out or kill her to give my village and the other dragons a chance to survive.” He lifted his gaze and locked it with hers. “I am not a killer, Princess.”

She searched his face, amazement melting the icy implacability of her expression and leaving only a quiet pensivenesss. After a pause, she glided past him wordlessly. When Hiccup turned to look at her, she was sitting by the edge of spire, legs kicking loosely below her. Her voice was soft, almost shy, as she asked without turning to face him, “Hiccup, will you... will you tell me about the legend in your tribe? About the boy and the dragon with one tail fin?”

The sound of his name on her tongue made Hiccup start. He stared at her. She looked thoughtful, her face painted rose gold by the Highland sun. Her curls, netted with fine drops of water from the falls behind her, drifted in the breeze.

After several long moments, Hiccup sat beside her. “It all started when a young Viking, considered useless by his tribe, dared to kill a Night Fury, the offspring of lightning and death itself...”

  
  
  



	15. Synnove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Dagur's coma at the supposed treachery of the Outcasts, the leader of the Berserkers Synnove comes to Hiccup with a proposition of alliance.

Sweat trickled down Hiccup’s face and back as he maneuvered a tall basket against the wall. The air was dry and cool inside the Hooligan village depot, but he’d been working for hours manhandling crates of metal ingots, baskets bursting with cured meat and other supplies from the Highland. The work was monotonous and the hours long despite Toothless’s help. As he sifted through the medicinal supplies, a memory rose unbidden in his mind.

 

* * *

 

 

_The Princess was the last person Hiccup expected standing outside his door. She grinned up at him, hair heavy with damp and darkened to a dusty rose. The mahogany brown of her dress brought out the ruddy red in her cheeks and the sunlight in her skin. There was a bowl with a pale yellow ointment in her hands._

_“Are you alone?”_

_“Um, yes. Why?” He squinted at her suspiciously. Though they’d come to an understanding in Queen’s Tooth, he hadn’t appreciated the way she’d laughed at him when he fell off ten minutes later. The cuts in his hand still stung and burned._

_Merida came in, the sheer force of her presence enough to make Hiccup back away before any physical contact could be made. “Oh good. You’re already clean. Sit down.”_

_“Hey! You can’t just walk into men’s rooms and boss them around.” Hiccup whipped around and tried to spot any extra pieces of underwear lying about. The Queen had installed the Viking party in their own dormitory. The beds lying in neat, precise rows around him were unmade. Bits of armor were strewn across the room._

_If Merida noticed the disarray, she gave no sign. She faced him, hip cocked and a smirk on her lips. “Actually, I’m the princess. I can do just that if I like.”_

_“But it’s my bedroom!”_

_“You’re very observant.” She dragged a small stool over to the one neatly made bed but for the open sketchbook. “Is that a view of DunBroch from the lake? That’s not half bad!”_

_Hiccup snapped the book shut and sat on top of it for good measure. “What do you want?”_

_“I’ll tell you if you roll up your sleeves and puts your hands on your knees palm up.”_

_He scowled at her. She smiled back at him._

_“No one’s ever said no to you before, have they?”_

_“I could wrestle your sleeves off one at a time.” Her blue eyes swept over him up and down. She put a finger on her lower lip, head tilted to the side. “You’re taller than me, but I’m quicker and I’ve wrestled with the wee devils all my life.”_

_“You wouldn’t,” Hiccup frowned. She probably was quicker than him and wrestling with her siblings gave her some experience, but she wouldn’t actually—_

_“Bet I can have you on your back in 30 seconds.” Merida rose, putting aside her bowl._

_“All right!” Hiccup yelped. With that mental image burned in his mind, Hiccup hastily began rolling his sleeve up. Apart from the squeaking of the stool as Merida sat back down, the room was in complete silence. Hiccup coughed and held out his right hand. “Happy?”_

_“Very.” She set the bowl down in her lap and gently cupped his hand. Her fingers ghosted over his cuts and scrapes._

_Hiccup twitched. It was first time she had ever touched him, he realized, though not the first time she had been so close. Her touch was surprisingly delicate as she turned his hand this way and that, frowning._

_“It’s worse than I thought.” She peered so closely into his hand he felt her breath like the barest breeze tickling against his palm. “I should have come sooner. I’ll have to make a proper job of it now.”_

_“What’s worse? What job?”_

_“The cuts on your hands.” Merida straightened up and set his hand against her knees. She kneaded his wrist gently and with her other hand began rubbing the ointment into his palm._

_That was almost worse than Merida wrestling with him. He pulled his hand away but the grip around his wrist became iron. Face flaming, Hiccup blurted, “I’m not hurt. This is unnecessary.”_

_“You’ve got scrapes and cuts from when you fell off the Queen’s Tooth.”_

_“I’ve had worse. Trust me.” He thumped his prosthetic leg for good measure._

_“Not from the Queen’s Tooth. There’s a,” she frowned, then, to his surprise, used a Viking word, “seiðr about that place.”_

_His hand stilled in her own. “Where’d you learn that?”_

_“Humor me.”_

_“Princess.”_

_“Don’t be daft,” she snorted and shrugged her hair to the side. “You know my name.”_

_“But—“_

_“Do you like being called Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the III, son and heir of Stoick the Vast, dragon conqueror of Berk?”_

_He stared at her. Ok, she had a point. But his title was a lie. Mostly._

_“Och, don’t tell me you’re one of those uppity types who makes their friends call them by Lord Freckleface Grumpkin great rescuer of sheep and slayer of pumpkins.” Her voice deepened to a precise, booming tone. It was an uncanny imitation of someone, Hiccup could tell._

_“Merida.” His lips twitched._

_“How dare you address me by my perfectly functional name, you presumptuous peer, instead of my ridiculously long title some bard was forced to make up while he was soused and bored to death and couldn’t find anything that rhymed with pumpkins!”_

_“Merida!” he laughed._

_“Doesn’t that sound better?” she grinned. “Now let me get on with it before someone catches me.”_

_“Where are you supposed to be now?”_

_“Spending time with Lady Helen of the perfect face and the perfect hair and the perfect smile and the perfect manners.” Her voice was distracted as her fingers continued their ministrations. “It’s high treason to have the princess dress herself you know.”_

_“Naturally. I have six attendants at home not just one.” Without thinking about it, Hiccup relaxed at her touch. She was very gentle and, despite his words, the cuts had burned. The ointment helped take away the pain. “What is that ointment made from?”_

_“Honey and Greamh mac feidh.”_

_“Grim what?”_

_“It’s a fern. Very difficult to find or grow, but good for burns. You have to prepare it right so that you can mix it with the honey.” She held up his hand and blew on his palm gently._

_The ointment, which had been soothing before, became cool to the touch. She held up his hand close to her lips and blew on the ointment twice more. The burning and stinging sensation on his right hand slowly receded leaving him hyper-aware of her closeness. Did she have no sense of space with everyone or just him? She was always coming just shy of too close. Her fingers pat then spread the ointment carefully on the scrapes and burns. Her other hand massaged the stiffness away from his muscles. He was uncomfortably aware of her gentle breathing, the frown on her face and the tickle of her hair on his arm as she bent over her work._

_Suddenly, Merida looked up at him. Hiccup’s breath caught in his throat. She blinked and gave him a shy smile, returning to her work._

_Heart detonating in his chest, he tried to think of something to say. “You weren’t this concerned about me when I fell off the Queen’s Tooth. In fact, you were laughing your head off.”_

_“You didn’t fall off. You slid down the last five feet,” she smirked. “Yelping like a wounded hart as you went.”_

_“There you go again, willfully misinterpreting me. For your information, Merida, that was a manful Viking warcry of landing.”_

_“Oh, I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized Viking warcries were so... high pitched.” Hiccup would have been offended, but the laughter wasn’t derisive. It was just gleeful. He begrudgingly forgave her._

_Merida switched to his left hand. Hiccup flexed his right hand experimentally. No pain or stiffness. Highland medicine was good. He turned his attention back to her, curious with the process._

_His left hand was stiffer and more badly scraped since it was his dominant hand. She was careful with the cuts and took the time to pull out the knots in his hand. This time, he was ready for the cooling sensation from the ointment when she blew on it. The sensations were pleasant and oddly... sensual._

_“How’d you get that scar?”_

_“That was when I was Gobber’s, the blacksmith’s, new apprentice.” Hiccup flexed his right hand again but mostly he focused on the girl in front of him. “I wasn’t paying attention and the iron slipped... I have a lot of scars like that.”_

_“From daydreaming?”_

_“Gobber might have thought I was a little slow.” Hiccup shrugged and cursed himself internally. Smooth, Haddock, just keep making yourself sound like an idiot._

_“Could you hold up your hand?”_

_“Is that a request?” He smirked at her as he held up his hand. She made a face at him and laughed. She held her hand up to his, palms almost touching. Her hand was smaller than his, daintier._

_“The dragon that gave you that bite must have been enormous. The teeth marks cover most of my palm and fingers.” She pulled down her palm and tugged his hand back in place._

_“Most dragons are really big. Most Viking tools are really big.”_

_“Bigger than Highland tools, I’m sure.”_

_“What? I don’t know.” He peered at her suspiciously. Her tone held the same asperity it had the first time she found out he was the “dragon conqueror of Berk.” “I hadn’t thought about it. Some of them. Maybe.”_

_She grinned at him and he relaxed back into his slump. She pulled up her left sleeve. “See that little area that’s a slightly different color from the rest? That’s where the bow string kept taking the skin off ‘till I learned proper form.”_

_“It must have taken you a while to learn, to form a scar like that.” Hiccup traced the scar below her wrist with his eyes._

_“Ages. I was the slowest learner my teacher’s ever had, he says. Of course, I’m the only pupil my teacher’s ever had.”_

_They smiled at each other over this shared trait. Merida patted his hand and he pulled it back._

_“So,” he asked, flexing his left hand. Like the right, the pain had become nonexistent. “You make a habit of going to cursed places?”_

_“I make a habit of going to challenging places.” The curl of her lips echoed with the thunder of hooves against damp earth and the roar of water plummeting past steep cliffs. “Haven’t you ever looked at some impossible place and wondered—what if?”_

_“The sky,” Hiccup said almost instantly. “Everyday.”_

_It was Merida’s turn to stare. Hiccup blushed. He shouldn’t have said that. It slipped out without him realizing. It was nice being with Merida. It had been so long since he had a proper conversation with someone he genuinely liked. It was almost like being with his friends back in Berk._

_The bells rang for dinner._

_“That’s my cue.” Merida gathered her things. She stood up and went to the door._

_“Merida,” Hiccup bit his lip. She paused at the open the door. “Thank you. For, um, the ointment but especially the Queen’s Tooth. That was...”_

_“I know,” she grinned, then hesitated. With a little blush, she swept him a curtsy. “Ah, thank you for the story. I... prefer it over all the other Viking tales.”_

_His heart gave a little thump at that. The words burst out of his mouth before he could stop himself, before he could even consider whether it was a good idea. “Would you do it?”_

_“What?”_

_“Would you ride... I mean, if you could, would you ride a dragon?”_

_“Anything can happen.”_

 

* * *

           

Toothless grunted as he pushed a large cart full of even more baskets from the entrance. Hiccup carefully replaced the burn ointment back into the basket and took a moment to stretch. “Thanks, bud.”

The Night Fury crooned and bumped him from behind. Hiccup smiled and scratched Toothless behind the ear. “You did good. It’s not as exciting as flying with the Dragon Riders, but at least we’re not killing people, right?”

Toothless’s gummy smile made Hiccup laugh. The dragon abruptly turned to face the entrance. Seconds later, a meaty fist pounded on the massive doors. Toothless pounced off to the entrance and nudged the door open.

“Toothless! You know Dad doesn’t want anyone coming in here except us.” There had almost been a riot when the _snekjja_ came back from the Highlands. If Stoick hadn’t been so well respected or Thornado so feared, the villagers would have torn the boat apart looking for food. After food had been distributed, Stoick had given Hiccup the responsibility of storing and organizing the supplies as well as leading the trading runs to the Highlands.

“Gobber can spare you now that he’s got a couple of apprentices and proper materials to work with,” Stoick had said after taking one look at the haphazard pile of supplies the fishermen had hastily dumped on the floor near the entrance.

Hiccup had the sneaking suspicion Stoick only wanted him out of sight and out of mind.

Familiar buzzing wings echoed in the cavern. Meatlug pressed enthusiastic licks to Toothless who butted its head playfully back. Fishlegs waved awkwardly from the entrance behind his dragon.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

They stared at each other for a beat. Hiccup turned away and lifted one basket down from the cart. He couldn’t see him, but he could hear Fishlegs shifting his considerable weight from side to side.

“Looks like a decent amount of food.”

It was more than decent. The Royal Family’s generous gift in return for the dragon bone and salted fish had filled every corner and crevice of the returning snekjja. Food that had been precious scarce before—grain, meat, vegetables—had filled the village’s bare stores. Gobber’s forges now rang day and night shaping weapons for all the fighters where once before they were lucky to have enough for a dozen. The sick and wounded in Gothi’s hut breathed a little deeper, a little easier, as the Queen’s medicinal herbs had refilled the beleaguered healer’s supplies. They had made it in time to save many. But Hiccup had a feeling Fishlegs wasn’t here to discuss the success of the Highlands run.

“No supplies passed out until noon.” Hiccup grunted as he shoved the basket back. “Chief’s orders.”

“Uh, I promise not to steal any food if you let me in?”

“All right.” The sand floor helped him slide the basket into place, but it was still an effort. Hiccup dragged the second basket off the cart. “But you’re helping me out.”

“Sure!” Fishlegs sounded relieved.

Hiccup glanced at Fishlegs curiously. He hadn’t talked to any of his age-mates since the fight with Astrid. He had been furious with them for—Hiccup hadn’t been sure what. It felt like he was frustrated with them for a lot of reasons. For letting Astrid tell the chief, for supporting Astrid’s decisions, for not trusting him enough to make the right ones. As the week passed and the dragon riders had begun following Stoick’s new directives, that frustration had evolved into betrayal and guilt. He couldn’t blame them for following Stoick.

But they had been _his_ group of people. They had believed in him when no one else did back in the desperate fight with the Red Death. Why didn’t they trust him now?

Fishlegs made the follow handsignal to Meatlug and Meatlug directed its attention to Toothless. Toothless grabbed hold of another cart and pushed it to the back. It took a few tries, but Meatlug got the gist.

“That’s a great trick, ‘Legs,” Hiccup grinned. A faint sense of pride and amusement twinged in his chest—a feeling Hiccup often experienced as the chief instructor in Dragon Academy. Hiccup hadn’t felt that way in months.

“Thanks,” Fishlegs smiled back. He lifted two baskets from the cart and carried them to Hiccup. “Laying them out by fours for weeks? That’s smart.”

“It’ll be hard to miss when we start running out of certain supplies.” Hiccup glanced sidelong at his friend. The dragon rider looked good. The years had seen Fishlegs replace some of his girth with hard earned muscle from training dragons and other riders. The intervening months since the disaster with Dagur and Alvin had accelerated the process. There was more muscle than meat in Fishlegs’s arms.

“Foolproof.” Fishlegs grimaced. “Except for Snotlout. Maybe some other people we won’t mention.”

“Nothing is Snotlout or Nut-proof,” Hiccup responded dryly. The dragons were making short work of the pile in the front. Between the two of them, Hiccup could probably get the cavern organized in one afternoon. But Fishlegs had other duties in the village.

“Are the Highlands really as beautiful as they say?”

Hiccup thought back to mountainsides covered in bright red flowers, deep green rolling fields and little rivers and streams shimmering a light blue. “More. I didn’t know it could be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Intense,” Hiccup shrugged. “Wild.”

“Are there dragons?”

“The only thing missing.”

They both laughed at that. Fishlegs measured a new location’s worth by virtue of its dragon species. Hiccup wasn’t much different. But something about the Highlands set it apart, dragon or no.

“We really miss you in Dragon Academy, you know.”

“No, Fishlegs.” Hiccup was glad his face was turned towards the wall. He didn’t want Fishlegs to see him wince.

“Look, I know the Chief pretty much took the dragon riders from you, and that you lost your standing in the village, and everyone hates you and we figured out that Astrid dumped you and your dad’s pretty disappointed in you, but technically the Academy is still yours!”

“Thank you for summing that up for me.”

“We need you, Hiccup!” Fishlegs’s voice pitched higher. Meatlug perked up at the sound. His ears flattened in distress. “Astrid and Snotlout are gone 80% of the time, and the twins aren’t much help covering the advanced classes. I can’t teach all the classes myself! On top of that, the Chief wants me, Ruff and Tuff to help with the longer missions too. But we can’t, not without Spitelout’s warriors harassing ours.”

“Harassing?” Hiccup frowned, straightening. “When did that start happening? Why?”

“Not too long ago.” Fishlegs wouldn’t meet his eyes. He blew a deep breath and his lips started counting down. It was a trick Fishlegs used to calm himself down. Hiccup hadn’t seen Fishlegs use it since the first year Fishlegs rode Meatlug. “Dragons aren’t really popular right now. They’re not as patient as we are with the accidents from beginning flyers.”

“Beginning flyers can’t help it.” Hiccup couldn’t help the outrage in his voice.

“I know!” Fishlegs gripped Hiccup’s shoulder. In the torchlight, Hicup realized his earlier assessment had been wrong. Fishlegs might have gained more muscle, but he looked exhausted. His face was wan and dark circles smudged his eyes. His hair was even more unkempt than usual underneath its helmet. “So really, even if you could just start teaching again, that would be a great help!"

“Do you think we should go to war?”

Fishlegs grimaced and let him go. “I don’t want to go to war.”

“Don’t you think there’s another way?” Hiccup scowled.

“I’m all ears.”

“We can _talk_ to Dagur.”

Fishlegs stared at him, “I know you said it back in the Meade Hall months ago but… You’re not serious, right?”

“We haven’t even tried!”

“Do you really think you can convince Dagur dragons aren’t evil?”

“Yes!”

“So why haven’t you gone off to see him then?”

Hiccup hesitated.

Both dragons growled at the same time. Fishlegs and Hiccup jerked instantly at the sound. Familiar bells, faint through the stonewalls of the cavern, sounded in the distance.

“The Berserkers are here,” Fishlegs whispered, face bloodless and eyes huge. “Odin, we’re not nearly ready yet.”

Hiccup fought the cold grip of fear and hysteria inside him as he and Fishlegs started running out to the harbor followed closely by their dragons. Fishlegs was right. It had only been two days since they’d come back from the Highlands. The warriors weren’t properly outfitted yet. The sick and wounded had only just begun recovery. And they had already been outnumbered from the start by the Berserk armada.

“We’re facing their prime warriors,” Fishlegs chattered as they burst out into the sun. All around them, the village was oddly silent. The bell had cut off. Women and children were hurrying inside. “Veteran reavers. The _best_ reavers and warriors in the entire archipelago.”

“Fishlegs.” Hiccup looked around, confused. There should be bedlam. Everyone had a place in a Berserker attack including women and children. Ahead, Fishlegs hopped on to Meatlug easily in an unthinking gesture of grace. It looked easy, but was accomplished through years of practice and a close bond with one’s dragon. Only the best riders could mount their dragons mid-run.

“Armor 8. Speed 9. Attack 10!”

“Fishlegs!” Hiccup growled. Without looking, he extended his hand and found Toothless’s saddle. He swung himself on. Toothless surged past Meatlug, close enough that Hiccup could punch Fishlegs’s arm.

“Over 7 feet tall, bred for battle since birth and wrapped in chains so they can _restrain each other in case they go berserk and start killing every—OW!_ What was that for? _”_

“Not helping,” Hiccup bit out. Near the Harbor, Crowtooth, his young Monstrous Nightmare at this side, spotted them and started making hand signals. No attack. Quiet. Hiccup. No dragon. Come. Stoick here. Berserkers here. Message.

“What would the Berserkers have to say to you?” Fishlegs’s brow furrowed. “Other than the thirty-seven different ways he can twist your head off with only one hand?”

“Thanks, ‘Legs. I really needed to know that.”

* * *

 

 

_Fishlegs must be so disappointed_ , Hiccup thought. Instead of his armada of giant, frenzied warriors, there were only two people standing at the furthest dock in Hooligan Harbor and only one ship was anchored. One of the Berserkers was clearly a warrior. He was taller than Stoick and had a strange pattern of chains wrapped around his torso and waist. A spark of interest lit inside Hiccup, immediately trying to piece the design’s intent. Then Gobber shifted and Hiccup had a clear view of the second Berserker. It was a girl.

She was almost the same height as Hiccup with long slender limbs and brown hair gathered in an elaborate braid behind her back. Her attire was costly and beautiful, but for all that, she moved with none of Astrid’s quiet confidence or even Ruffnut’s loping swagger. The girl was coltish in her movements, an awkwardness made more distinct by the color of her dress—the precise shade of blood against the snow. When she turned, Hiccup caught a glimpse of wide green eyes underneath a wolverine fur-trimmed hood and coat. There was something strikingly familiar about her.

“I told Synnove we should have just sent a message—“

“But I thought we should give the invitation in person,” said the girl in a quiet, small voice. Her voice was high, thin—hard to make out from the seagulls’ cries that punctuated the air every few minutes. Something about the noise niggled in the back of Hiccup’s mind, but then Hiccup had to concentrate to catch the rest of her words. “Especially since the Reaping Fleet passed so close to Berk.”

“Ah, Hiccup!” Stoick turned and clapped a hand on Hiccup’s shoulder. Held against his father’s side, Hiccup could sense the tension in the Chief’s body. He _looked_ pleased and relaxed, but Hiccup knew Stoick could pull out his war hammer and kill the two Berserkers in only a few seconds if necessary. The rest of Spitelout’s warriors hidden throughout the docks and the dragon riders perched in nearby cliffs were there for the dark line of ships in the horizon. A gull let out a piercing call, audible though Hiccup couldn’t even see it in the distance. “Someone wants to meet you.”

“Odin’s beard, you look like your mother, boy,” said the male Berserker. His voice was soft, but with a note of strength and certainty that carried it clearly through the air. Gray hair and beard framed a face that would have been handsome if not for the mashed nose. Dark eyes, unclouded by age, looked Hiccup up and down. “That’s Val’s hair and face. Your eyes, though, Stoick.”

“You knew my mother?” Wonder and annoyance made his words louder than he’d intended. No one in Berk talked about his mother, but it seemed that every outsider Hiccup met knew of her.

“I taught Val everything she knew about swordplay when she wintered in Pandemonium. That was in the old days when she was just Osvald’s sister’s daughter, before she became the famous Valhallarama of the White Arms.” The Berserker glanced at Stoick, a small thin smile on his face. “Almost as famous as Stoick the Vast, hear his name and tremble!”

“Not that again,” Stoick groaned, blushing. It was such a rare reaction from Stoick that Hiccup couldn’t help stare.

“Val laughed too when I introduced them for the first time.”

“Speaking of introductions.” Gobber’s sniggers might have been hidden by the seagulls’ calls, but his smirk was unmistakable. “Hiccup, this is Ogden the Black, chief counselor to Osvald and part-time matchmaker. _This_ is Synnove. Daughter to Osvald and heir presumptive to the Berserkers while her brother is, err, incapacitated.”

Hiccup’s brows flew up. No wonder she looked familiar. Hiccup could see traces of her brother’s features on the girl—the aquiline nose, the high cheekbones, even the way their eyes moved restlessly from one object to the next. Not now though. The girl was watching him with wide, petrified eyes. Ogden nudged her and she blurted out, “Nice to meet you, Hiccup!”

“Err, likewise.”

“Dagur’s told me, I mean all of us, about how you defended him from the Night Fury.” Her words burst out in an almost incoherent stream. Her fingers curled tightly against her side. “It was very brave and I, _we_ , were so impressed. I wish to spill your blood at the Sands of Urd.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s unusual to have an outsider as the guest-of-honor and begin the Festival of Sands, isn’t it?” Gobber’s glance towards Hiccup was guileless, but Hiccup recognized the intent straightaway. It was the oblique tone his former mentor used whenever he wanted Hiccup to shut up and pay very careful attention. “I thought this was Berserker-only event—only the best and most fiercesome Berserker warriors could clobber each other in the fighting pits.”

“Unusual, but not unheard of,” said Ogden, casting Gobber an odd look. “You’ve been hard at the bottle, haven’t you, Gobber? Your chief was a guest-of-honor once at the Festival of Sands. One of the handful in Berserker memory to be both champion and guest-of-honor.”

“That was a long time ago, Ogden.” Stoick shifted his weight and his voice was quiet.

“Surely not that long ago that you’ve not told your boy about it. That festival was legendary, Hiccup. Your father killed half a dozen beasts all on his own in one battle, and injured nearly three dozen of Osvald’s best warriors before he was crowned champion.”

With a terrific effort, Hiccup kept his face impassive though he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Beside him, he could feel Stoick pointedly ignoring him. “I’m not really into staged combat.”

“You needn’t participate.” Synovve’s eyes were fixed on his face, searching. Questioning. “The guest-of-honor’s blood is spilled on the arena floor so that his extraordinary strength and skill might be passed on to the combatants. Aside from the cut on your palm, the guest-of-honor simply presides over the fights with me. You’d observe the matches, judge the warriors for their strength and skill and help me select who would be worthy to serve in our fleet.”

Hiccup blinked, thoughts screeching to an abrupt halt. Viking Tribes guarded the secrets of their unique fighting styles jealously—a necessity when one’s tribe was at a constant state of warfare with its neighbors and the surrounding wildlife. What Synnove offered was more than a hand of gratitude. It was a doorway into the very heart of the Berserker Tribe. It was a staggering offer and it instantly set Hiccup on his guard.

“I’m sure you have other warriors who are,” Hiccup swallowed, “just as strong and skilled as I am. Why me?”

“Because you saved my brother. Once from the Night Fury and again from the Outcasts.” Synnove’s expression became composed and guarded. In her tranquil state, she reminded Hiccup all the more strongly of Dagur. “Berserkers celebrate our allies and give thanks when it’s due.”

“It’s been months.”

“Traditionally, the leader of the Berserker Tribe issues the invitation. But Dagur still sleeps. The healers say he may never recover and so I…” The girl trailed off, the fear as evident in her voice as smoke rising from a fire.

“Synnove is trying to unite the leadership of the Berserkers,” Ogden said, clasping a protective hand around her shoulders.

“Only until Dagur wakes up or Father decides to take the seat again.”

“Osvald is still alive?” exclaimed Gobber, Hiccup and Stoick at once.

Synnove dropped her eyes at their question. “Yes. He had an accident while he was sailing with Dagur. Dagur’s taken up leadership in his stead but now that Dagur’s gone...”

            Hiccup and Gobber exchanged keen glances.

“Three different candidates for the seat at Pandemonium,” Stoick observed. “What a right old mess, Ogden.”

“You know how the old vultures are, Stoick.” Ogden shook his head wearily. “Dagur’s beheading of the chieftains last spring hasn’t helped any. They hate Dagur more than they fear us.”

Synnove turned to Hiccup, “Thanking our allies is one of the few things we can do to show Pandemonium that everything is back in order in our house. Please say you’ll come.”

“Look, we appreciate the gesture,” Stoick cut in, “but with the Outcast plaguing us day and night, we just can’t afford to be away.”

“You haven’t thrown them back, either,” said Ogden.

“Have you? Annihilating the Outcasts and Alvin’s head on a spike would be a better show of leadership than recruiting Hooligans.”

“If the Outcasts met us in straight combat, we would.” Ogden’s hand now dropped to the mace at his belt. “But they’re not foolish enough to attack Berserker ships or Pandemonium either. We’ve been losing ships trying to find their island in the Mazy Multitudes.”

“So the real reason for their invitation comes out,” Gobber said. Hiccup could see the blacksmith’s point at once. The Berserker ship knocking at their port was three times the height and size of the largest Hooligan vessel. As Hiccup had descended from the village proper, he’d glimpsed a crew of perhaps two dozen sailors. Some swabbed the deck, others lashed the sails but most were engaged in wrestling a large catch of fish to the hold.

“It’s true. We do need your help,” Synnove said quickly, glancing at Ogden’s dangerous scowl. Her words were rushed but clear. Rehearsed. “Berserker warships just aren’t built to navigate the narrow channels of the Mazy Multitudes. But I’m confident that, with your ships and our warriors, we can find and exterminate the Outcast fleet at their source. Of course we are grateful to you. But we can think of no better show of gratitude than destroying a common enemy.”

It was such an odd, bloodthirsty statement coming from such a quiet girl. It made Hiccup stare. But although Synnove blushed, her eyes were fixed determinedly on Stoick.

“You make a good point, Synnove daughter of Osvald. But I know the Old Families and I’m not so young anymore that I would so easily embroil my tribe in Berserker succession politics especially when my own tribe is under attack.”

“But I—”

“Let me think on it, ” Stoick said firmly.

“Very well.” Synnove’s cheeks flushed red and her gaze sank. She took a deep breath, then smiled, shy but genuine, at Hiccup. “Whatever the decision, you are always welcome at our father’s hall as a friend, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the III. Both the Chief and his son are counted as friends to the Berserkers.”

The corners of his lips tilted up. She must have known it was a gambit to come here. She lost, but she lost with grace. He had to admire that. “Thank you, Synnove.”

“Come, milady,” Ogden touched Synnove’s shoulder very gently. “The Reaping Fleet can’t wait all day. We need more dragons for the fight tonight else we buy from that fool dragon trapper Eret again.”

The pieces lined up and Hiccup’s answering smile froze. The reason for the fleet’s name. The sound like gulls’ cries—but there were no gulls in the beaches of Berk this time of year. An arena where Berserker warriors tested their mettle against men _and_ beasts. A dragon-hunting fleet. A soft pained gasp escaped Hiccup’s lips.

Stoick spoke once more, but Hiccup no longer listened. The only sound he heard were the dragons’ screams drifting over the blue-black waves.

 

* * *

 

 

“Thirteen longships in total, each as big as Synnove’s, and manned by 40 Berserkers at least,” Astrid reported as soon as Stormfly touched down near the training yards at the village center. The blonde Viking looked windswept and tired, but her eyes were as alert as ever. “They changed course once they spotted a herd of Thunderdrums. I stopped following when they entered Berserker waters.”

_Don’t think about it,_ Hiccup ordered himself though he couldn’t help but flinch. _Don’t think about the dra—About what they’re going to—_ His mind balked.

“They were honest about that, at least,” Stoick sighed and Hiccup despaired at the relief in the Chief’s voice. After Synnove had left, Stoick hadn’t let him or Toothless out of his sight. He’d dragged the protesting pair to watch Spitelout’s training drills while he and the village elders spoke in low voices behind him. Hiccup forced himself to concentrate on the Hooligan warriors. He had to. If he heard anything more about the dragons, he and Toothless would bolt after them, war or no war.

The men paired off and began to grapple one another. There was no art or elegance in the movement; it was simple and efficient, coordinated brutality—the closest Berk would ever have to the beautiful court dances of DunBroch.

“We should have blown that ship out of the water as soon as we saw it,” Spitelout’s growl carried above the meaty thud of fists smashing against flesh and bone. He clapped his hands and whistled once. The men picked up their axes and shields. The weapons were blunt but heavy in the hand—designed to prepare the combatants for extended fighting.

The dragon riders had practiced with the weapons barely half a year ago. He remembered his muscles burning in protest as he fought again and again with his age mates. He never had been able to beat Snotlout or Astrid.

“They’re just using Osvald’s personal flag to trick you, Stoick,” said Phlegma. The rhythmic scrape of her whetstone underlined her rough voice. “They want to lure you and your boy into Hysteria and assassinate you. Did we tell you to take it easy?! Get going! I want to see bruises and blood by nightfall!”

As one, the warriors cried out a hail. The sound of axes hitting shields grew louder. _It was eerie_ , Hiccup thought distantly. He knew each warrior by name, had even been friendly with some, but after a year of incessant fighting, Hiccup hardly recognized them. They had borne the brunt of the fights with the Outcasts and it showed in the scars in their bodies and the expressions on their faces—hostile, closed, focused and absolutely loyal.

_They have to be_ , Spitelout explained to Stoick once when he thought Hiccup was out of earshot, _because they know each fight is a losing battle_.

“Dagur’s not exactly subtle,” Gobber said. “If he wanted to kill us, he’d do it with his armada. Assassination isn’t his style.”

“What else could it be then?” Spitelout’s voice was unmistakably hostile. There had been tension between Gobber and Spitelout since Stoick left for the Highlands. Each had disagreed on certain ways to run the village in Stoick’s absence. Apparently, the animosity was still there. “You can’t believe this girl, this _Synnove_ , actually means to form an alliance with us against the Outcasts? That she wants to _thank_ Hiccup for rescuing her brother?”

Warmth rushed into his cheeks and banished the comforting numbness. It rankled that they were treating Synnove’s actions as stupid or evil. Despite her resemblance to her brother, Synnove lacked Dagur’s careless malice. Her green eyes were earnest if painfully shy. She was clearly out of her depth, but trying to make the best of her choices. Hiccup could sympathize.

Though his back was to them, he spoke loud enough to be heard over the thunk and scrape of axe against shield, “The Reaping Fleet had more than half a thousand men. The entire island has about the same number including the women, the children and those too old to fight back. If Synnove wanted us dead, the attack would have come already. Synnove didn’t lie. Berserkers don’t need to. They know they can win.”

Uneasy silence from the group behind him. Toothless flicked his ears back and crooned low once more. Hiccup’s hand twitched and he resumed petting the Night Fury.

“The royal bloodline of the Berserkers is cursed. We all know this,” Spitelout said. The words were almost inaudible from the thud of the butt of a hammer smacking into a man’s stomach. The warrior doubled over and his opponent swung his club down on the man’s back. “Osvald is weak. Dagur is mad. Synnove _lies_. This is what comes of mixing their blood.”

“Oh that old legend,” sighed Gobber. “That was just a story we told each other as children. It’s not true.”

“Even if they hadn’t married—if she hadn’t come willing, the Highland Princess still bore Thugheart’s heirs. Berserkers’ blood is tainted. Their weakness is the gods’ punishment for defying Viking laws. This is what happens when Vikings stray from tradition.”

The last sentence fell like an open challenge. There was a white-hot moment of shock, Hiccup heard Phlegma’s warning whisper, “ _Not now_ …” and then a murmur of discontent rose from the warriors training in the field. They didn’t stop their fights, too wary of Phlegma’s fury, but Hiccup caught their savage glances. Toothless stilled then bared his teeth. He wrapped a protective tail and held Hiccup close against his side.

“Dragons happen to be the only reason the Outcasts haven’t overrun us by now.” Astrid’s voice was low, but arctic. The Stormfly’s spikes creaked ominously in the silence.

“Dragons _are_ the reason we’re at war with Outcasts and Berserkers.”

“That’s _enough,_ Spitelout.” The Chief’s voice held a warning rumble like distant thunder across a rough sea. “I might not be able to stop the men from believing it, but I expect my battle-chief to know better than to speak it.”

“What? Are we pretending that that’s not what happened?”

“We are only discussing what to do with Synnove’s invitation! I don’t want to hear about blame or superstition. I want to hear risks, advantages, disadvantages and rewards.”

Silence again. Hiccup hadn’t realized how tense the council had become. He hadn’t realized how close the village had gotten to turning on their own dragons. The thought was more horrifying than hearing the captured dragons on the Reaping Fleet. He shivered and pressed a hand to keep Toothless close.

“Even if Synnove wasn’t lying, what if Dagur wakes up during the visit and kills the Chief and Hiccup anyway?” Astrid’s voice was calm and reasonable. Hiccup doubted the others noticed the thin line of tension underlining her words. He pictured her clenched fists and her lips pressed thin. “It’s too big a risk.”

“But imagine what we’d gain,” Gobber urged. “Knowledge of their battle tactics, their formations, their fighting styles. How many weapons, how many men, how many ships.”

“I know all that from when I was Festival champion.”

“Almost 20 years ago, Stoick. Just consider, this will be the closest we’ll ever get to Dagur.”

Astrid took a sharp breath, “You mean before he wakes up.”

“That’s the coward’s way.” Spitelout’s voice was disapproving, but not angry.

“It’s the only way we’ll survive, you fool!” Gobber cried. “Do you imagine we can win against the biggest armada of the Northern seas? Even the Romans steer clear of them! If we kill Dagur _quietly_ , we end this war with the Berserkers before it even starts. Then we secure an alliance to beat back the Outcasts _once and for all_. We do this or we’re all dead by the next summer.” 


	16. Responsibility of Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the border between Macintosh and Dingwall territories, a series of thefts has raised the people in an uproar. Between accusations of theft and rumors of a dark creature haunting the woods, Merida must bring back the stolen sheep or risk an all-out war between the border villages.

The road from DingHall, ancestral seat of the Dingwalls, to its furthest village Mallaig was uneven, winding and bracketed by steadily encroaching trees of the Great Forest. The road barely permitted the width of the carriage, the ground was slick with deep tracks left by passing crofters’ carts and pine trees cast sections of the road in a deep gloom. It was a treacherous route even for the experienced messengers that passed often between Clan Lords.

Of course, Merida had to take it at breakneck speed.

Angus’s muscles bunched as he leapt over a fallen tree that blocked the path. Merida whooped with excitement as soon as they cleared it. Spurred by his mistress’s exuberance, Angus put forth a fresh burst of speed. Merida glanced once behind her.

Niall’s mount was as small as its master, but evidently just as stubborn and surprising. The pony had gamely followed Angus’s punishing pace from the outset. It was too small to jump over the fallen tree as Angus did, but it was clever enough to squeeze by gaps on the side of the roads. Merida felt a flicker of gratitude and respect for Niall Dingwall.

Helen Macintosh had protested loudly and repeatedly at Merida’s insistence on taking Angus forward by herself. Her ladies-in-waiting recited reports of bandits roaming the woods, flying serpents stealing cattle and Cu Sith chasing travelers. After the second time the carriage had to stop for the Dingwall escort to clear away a tree blocking the road, Merida’s patience had nearly run out. Niall, perhaps wishing to avert the impending murder, offered himself as companion to the Princess while the remaining Dingwall warriors escorted the carriage the final leg to Mallaig village. Helen’s eyes had swung from Niall’s pony to Angus and lingered suspiciously on Merida’s innocent face as Merida promised to be very careful. In the end, the lady-in-waiting had begrudgingly let Merida go. Any protest would be to insult Niall’s prowess as a warrior.

Tree branches intertwined ahead and cast the path into a murky gloom. Niall called out to Merida to ease up; she heard Niall’s pony’s hoofbeats slow, but Angus wasn’t in the mood and neither was she. It had been over a month since they’d ridden free; they _needed_ this. Eyes narrowed, breath even, Merida listened only to the sound of her heartbeat and to Angus’s heaving breaths.

Blue witchfire flickered to faint, pulsating life. Unthinking, Merida followed the luminescent trail and Angus followed her direction. It was exhilarating. Her world tunneled into darkness, wind and the thunder of hooves striking against the damp earth. It was madness to ride so fast, to trust in nothing but her instincts and the friendship of wild spirits. Uncontrolled laughter burst from her throat—the kind Helen thought was too unladylike, the kind Elinor forbid princesses from having. There was no Court or Queen or lady-in-waiting to please or gainsay her now.

This was who she was. She wasn't meant to be confined inside carriages and castles, to smile blankly at young lords and curtsy at a lord's condescension. She belonged here with the wind in her air, bow and arrows at her side and Angus carrying her to adventure.

The path widened once more, sunlight pierced the canopy and soon the wisps disappeared. Angus circled the spot the last wisp had been, snorting and tossing its head impatiently.

“Whoa, boy,” she murmured absently, petting him. Merida felt a pang at the wisps’ departure. It had not been the first time she’d seen the wisps since the night she’d rescued her mother. She’d caught glimpses of the strange spirits, usually at night and deep in the Wild Woods. Once, she’d seen a circle of the wisps in the middle of Leet Water while she was returning to DunBroch. In the center of the circle of wisps was a little wooden boat. Merida fired an arrow to its side and dragged the boat back to shore. Inside, a small child slept, face smudged with dirt and tears. The Princess returned the child to the nearby village where her parents had been frantic with worry.

The spirits were strange and distant, but hardly ever without purpose. The closer they were, the more pressing the warning or the direction.

Merida was about to press onwards when her eyes fell on a little statue, no, a _tattie bogle_. It was the strangest tattie bogle Merida had ever seen. Instead of the man shape often used by the crofters to scare away crows, this mannequin was shaped like a writhing serpentine creature with stubby arms and legs and red dye streaked across its elongated jaws. Merida leaned over Angus’s side to look more closely. What would the wisps want with a statue?

“You hair is as beautiful as dead leaves.”

She jerked in surprise. Angus snorted and danced away from the statue. Niall was only a few feet away, eyes alarmingly soft and intense even in the gloom.

“Wha—when did—Erm. Thanks.” Merida pretended to adjust Angus’s reins while trying to calm her racing heart. How the blazes did he keep doing that? Niall Dingwall had the unnerving ability to appear silently whenever he was least expected—in the darkest corner of the tapestry room while Sima helped Merida with her stitches, in the gardens one hedge over while Helen drilled Merida on the names and titles of the castle court or one floor below whatever window Merida happened to be looking out of. It was an escalation of his behavior the last time she’d been at Dinghall and, for once, Merida had been glad of Helen and her ladies’ company. The giggles were embarrassing, but it also worked to drive Niall away.

“You’re as fast as a boobrie. But you don’t eat men or cattle. Or shapeshift. That I know of,” he frowned and asked with perfect sincerity. “Do you?”

“No,” Merida couldn’t help the nervous chuckle at being compared to a waterhorse. “Ah, how long do you think it will take for the carriage to catch up?”

“A while.” Niall paused long enough to make Merida fidget. “It will take the men a while to clear the trees from the path. How were you able to ride so fast in the dark?”

Merida flinched. She’d nearly forgotten that too in her mad haste for freedom. Niall was in another world altogether most times, but when he decided to focus, he was damnably perceptive. She urged Angus to a trot. “Don’t you find it odd that so many trees fell on the road today?”

“It’s a forest. Trees die.”

“But there’s not been a storm strong enough to break those trees. There wasn’t much leaves and branches on the forest floor, either.”

“Perhaps a woodcutter made a bride of the dryad,” Niall’s voice trailed off into a hum. “I think I’ll make a song about that.”

Merida paused, torn between calling Niall back to the original topic or commenting on his odd choice of a couple. In the end, she said, “A woodcutter and a dryad? It’s a bit like the wolf falling in love with a sheep, no?”

“The best love stories are about two people overcoming all odds to be together.”

“I prefer adventure stories myself.” The remaining fog had dispersed and revealed a group of small, thatched-roof cottages clustered at the banks of the nearby mountain river. Mallaig, she recalled, lay at the borders between Macintosh and Dingwall territory and was thus tactically important even though it couldn’t have had more than thirty inhabitants altogether. She saw no smith’s shop or village center, and it lay too close to the forest for suitable farming. Fences bordered the nearby fields though no sheep or cattle grazed in it.

In the distance, however, Merida saw vast swathes of deep green criss-crossed with streams—Mallagan Fields. Bordered by the Dingwall mountains and the Great Forest to the northeast and the Deep Woods in the southwest, it was the heart of the Macintosh farmlands.

“I would be happy to accompany you all the way to Caisteal a’Torr.”

“Erm, I don’t know if that’s… That is to say,” she said, trying to ignore the uneasy prickling along her arms. She took a deep breath, recalled one of the few useful pieces of advice from Helen: _If you need a minute to think of a proper response, start with ‘That’s very kind…’_ “That’s very kind. But…but I’m sure Lord Osgar is already waiting for us at Mallaig.”

“Macintosh won’t mind if we go ahead while he waits for his sister.”

“As milord says.” She’d bet her best bow that Osgar _would_ mind. The clans were jealous of the time spent with any member of the Royal Family. Of the month the princess and her retinue had spent visiting clan lords, celebrating ladies’ betrothals and honoring renowned warriors, armed escorts from the various clans had escorted them in turn instead of DunBroch warriors. Elinor fretted, but Merida had pointed out that Fergus needed his men more now that Clan MacGuffin was defending their northern islands against invaders.

Privately, Merida trusted herself more to keep Helen and her ladies safe rather than any clan warrior. Besides, she’d yet to see a single bandit in her solitary travels. Helen and her ladies had been listening with too wide-eyed intent at superstitious village inns.

 

* * *

 

 

A cottage door burst open and a man carrying an axe hurried down the single lane dividing the houses in the village. The lane terminated in the fenced fields where a large group of people brandishing axes and staves surrounded Macintosh warriors who, though shouting angrily, had not drawn their swords. Yet.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” said one soldier.

“The lass says she saw the sheep’s in Poolewe Village.” A thickly muscled man shook a young girl’s wrist in his tight grip. In his other hand was a long knife that gleamed in the sun. “Tell them! Every detail! If you lie, I’ll skin you and leave you out for the demon serpent.”

“I locked them all in the fence last night, honest! In the morning, they were all gone.” The girl couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen. Her voice, even from a distance, shook with tears and fear. “If I’d left the latch lifted, the sheep would never have gone out. They’re scared of the monster in the woods. So I looked round and saw tracks heading down the path to Poolewe Village. That’s all I know; I swear it.”

“It’s not just Matain’s herd that was lost,” said another. “All of our sheep are gone! They’re _your_ people. Make them give us back our sheep.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Osgar’s voice, sounding rather like Helen’s after Merida’s brothers had once filled her wardrobe with spiders and frogs, rose above the commotion. “Poolewe shepherds says that your herds graze on their crops, but I don’t come round here tossing accusations. Perhaps your monster in the woods stole the sheep. Now put the weapons _down_ before my men take it from you.”

The threat had the opposite effect. A club was swung at the Macintosh warriors. Soldiers shouted and unsheathed their swords with frightening speed.

Merida took a deep breath to shout then Niall let loose an ear-piercing whistle that brought tears to Merida’s eyes. Soldiers and villagers alike dropped their weapons and clapped their hands over their ears.

“Dingwall, ya bas, I told you not to do any of your musical frippery around me,” Osgar swore, face red.

“It’s not frippery,” Niall said indignantly. “Morgan the Melodious said it shows true skill to—”

“Stuff that sodding bard. Where the hell have you been? We expected you hours ago.”

“We beg your aid, Milord,” said the man with the knife, crowding close to Niall’s pony. Up close, he towered handily over Niall’s pony and his arms were scarred. “I was part of your father’s war-band and ever loyal to Clan Dingwall. Return our sheep to us!”

The Dingwall heir started as though he’d been caught napping at lessons and was now dazedly trying to follow a problem. “The sheep the the Princess is allergic to? I’ve banished those sheep from our lands.”

This pronouncement met with hysterical outbursts from the villagers.

“Sheep was the only way to make ends meet this season. The Queen promised to buy them for the Hunter’s Festival.”

“It’s the Macintosh bandits—must be!”

“Oi,” Osgar stiffened, deep blue eyes flashing. There was an uncharacteristic, deep ring in his voice that made the villagers cower. “Mind your tongue.”

“Don’t bully my people,” Niall said at once. The air of dreaminess he wore like a mask evaporated. He slid down from his pony and squared off against Osgar.

“I’ve been insulted and attacked. I’m being outrageously generous.”

“Only a ponce would think he was attacked.”

There was a pause as the two young lords stared each other down then their swords slid free of their scabbards at the same time. Merida huffed. Normally, she wouldn’t have cared if the lords fought each other. She hadn’t blinked once when Alan and Osgar had somehow gotten into a wrestling match on a boat ride. She’d simply picked up the oars, landed them on the nearest shore, and walked away. But something of the villagers’ desperation and of the shepherd girl’s tears made her mother’s often-repeated phrase ringer truer and louder than ever before: _A Princess keeps the peace._

“Nobody’s attacking anybody,” said Merida, dismounting. “By royal decree.”

“The insult to my family honor demands a response.” Osgar drew _Bloodheart_ —the last sword forged by the legendary Macintosh swordsmith. The surface was a bright darkness that revealed the Dal Riatan steel used for its creation. Merida might not take Osgar seriously but Dal Riatan steel? _We used arrows to bring the warriors with Dal Riatan swords down,_ Kincaid had once told her of the clan wars. _Your father didn’t like it, but he liked even less the lost limbs, the broken shields and the shattered bodies the swords left behind._

“Nobody threatens the Dingwalls.” Niall’s short sword would have been laughable if it weren’t for the dangerous, manic glint in his eye. Uneasily, Merida recalled some of the rumors about Niall—that there was a touch of the berserker among the Dingwalls, that the blood ran true in Niall and that Lord Dingwall’s boasts of his son’s exploits weren’t false at all. She’d laughed at the stories brought to her by Helen’s ladies, but now, a frisson of fear tingled down her spine.

“Fine,” Merida said through gritted teeth. She should have gone with her first instinct and shot the swords from their hands. She stepped between them to the collective gasps of the crowd. “But the first blow will go through me.”

Her skin prickled at the proximity of the sword tips. She’d never been this close to a naked blade before without having a weapon of her own. She saw the battle fever pulsing in Niall’s eyes, caught the quick calculation in Osgar’s as he judged the distance between them and she wondered if their honor mattered more than she did. _Probably_ , she thought. _You’ve really stepped on it now, Merida._

“My sword is yours,” Osgar said. He sheathed _Bloodheart_ in a single fluid motion and bowed deeply to her. “Let’s collect my sister and go.”

“I’d never have hurt you,” Niall said. “I swear it.”

“Er, right,” Merida muttered. As the silence stretched, she desperately tried to recall what her mother said when the Queen played peace-keeper at Court. “No more fighting then and, uh, let’s be friends. Again.”

“Of course,” said Osgar, holding out a hand to Niall.

“What’s that for?” Niall stared at it blankly as if he’d never seen such a thing before.

“Take my hand,” hissed Osgar, face red. “It’s to show we’re friends, you—”

“Oh!” Niall said, taking Osgar’s hand and intertwining their fingers.

“Enough,” Osgar said, shaking off Niall’s grip. “You’re not that good of a friend.”

“Justice, Princess!” said the former Dingwall soldier Matain. He came mere inches from her, far too close for comfort. “We demand justice. Our sheep, our village’s lifeblood, has been stolen. Poolewe village must pay.”

“I’ve passed through Poolewe.” Osgar’s jaw was stiff and his hand gripped _Bloodheart’s_ grip. “On my honor, I promise that their village hides no sheep. They are _farmers_ only. Mallaig’s sheep must have been stolen by bandits.”

“Bandits who live in Poolewe!” snapped Matain. “Princess, we all know bandits are coming from the Macintosh lands! For months our village has been robbed of grain, of vegetables, of our meager catches of fish. Our woodsmen have been beaten bloody at the Deep Woods. Even our tithes have not been spared. Yet Poolewe, a village only an hour’s walk from here, has been left untouched.”

“That proves nothing save that we guard our own villages better than Dingwall does theirs.”

“If my people say that Poolewe has been stealing from them, then I’ll take them at their word. Dingwalls don’t lie.”

“And Macintosh aren’t thieves.”

“Enough!” They’d _just_ clasped hands as friends. How on earth did the Queen deal with this type of bickering for hours on end every day? “We’re going round in circles. None of you have proof.”

“But you believe me, don’t you?” Niall wheeled to face her. His face was suddenly, childishly, open and vulnerable. He had worn the same expression once when she was being fostered at Dinghall and he’d told her of his dream to become the greatest bard in the Highlands. _You inspired me_ , he’d said, _If a princess can choose her own fate, why not a young lord?_

“A Princess listens to her own counsel,” she said, back stiff and gaze raking over the crowd. “I will look for the sheep myself.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Shit’s not fresh.” Osgar stepped carefully through the field full of torn and bent grass not far from Poolewe Village. Merida had tracked the sheep’s path with the shepherd girl’s assistance from Mallaig to Poolewe, but it was Osgar who discovered several sets of footprints running parallel with the sheep’s path. “The herd was here for a few hours, at least. Before dawn.”

Merida nodded in agreement, one hand clutching her skirts to keep it from trailing the ground. She’d have minded his presence more, but Osgar was, regretfully, a better tracker. That part of his reputation, at least, hadn’t been gross exaggeration.

Niall, on the other hand, was just dead weight. He did not want to accompany the Macintosh soldiers whom Osgar had ordered to assist his sister’s travel; he wanted to help Merida find the sheep. By help, he meant to stand a little too close to her while he hummed snatches of _The Lament of Genovefa._

“You’ve a good eye to follow the tracks so far,” Merida said to Elspet, the shepherd girl. “Well done.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Elspet murmured. She stood silent and subdued a little ways away from the three of them, but her eyes kept straying to the line of trees to the southwest. After a little prodding, she revealed, “My father is…was a hunter. He taught me a little of his craft. I didn’t expect to use it again until Master Matain…”

“Your master sounds like a beast. Why do you keep your apprenticeship with him?”

"I have to feed my little sister Deidre, Your Highness.” Though the group had walked far from Mallaig, the girl’s voice did not rise above a whisper. “Our parents died last winter and the forest is too dangerous to forage now that…” Merida had to lean closer to hear the girl’s words. “The demon serpent stalks the woods.”

Osgar snorted from where he paced the grass, though his eyes were trained keenly on the meandering hoofprints. “Overgrown adder, more like.”

The shepherd girl turned red as a tomato and went silent.

“My Lord Macintosh,” Merida gritted her teeth.

“Are you really trying to compare sheep stolen by bandits to a princess kidnapped by Vikings?” Osgar asked Niall, blithely ignoring Merida’s glare. He brushed the dust from his tartan and raked a hand through his dark hair. Now that he wasn’t being attacked, he’d resumed his usual fastidiousness—a fastidiousness identical to his sister’s. Merida wondered which sibling out-preened the other.

“I was just using the song as a framework,” Niall said, fingers curling protectively round his lyre. “It has a catchy melody and it’s very popular throughout the region.”

“Just make sure to include that we actually rescued the sheep.”

“But Genovefa was never rescued. She was kept a pri—”

“I’m not going to let your tarnish my reputation for your music!”

“Where’s the sheep then?”

Osgar paused, lips pursed. “Well, they were obviously here.”

“You’ve no idea where they’ve gone, have you?”

While the lords squabbled, Merida paced the area. The field was bordered by a large, rushing stream with slick rocks rising dull green above the water. Beyond was a thin strip of short grass and then the forest that marked the beginning of Macintosh territory. Other than a water egress, the sheep could only have gone onwards to Poolewe using the well-worn path and then to villages beyond assuming that the robbers covered their tracks. That was the obvious choice.

Yet some instinct told Merida that wasn’t the case. Instead, her eyes kept being drawn back to the encroaching forest. The same forest the shepherd girl kept staring at.

“Does that look like cabers to you?” Merida asked, jerking her head to deep indentations on the banks of the stream.

Osgar knelt beside her, careful to keep his sword from scraping the mud. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes flashed up to her, “For a footbridge, I’d wager.”

“The sheep are in there,” Merida pointed to the forest, flushed with triumph, and caught her quiver just before it slipped off her shoulder. _Curse this dress_ , she thought with a sharp stab of viciousness. She’d not had her hunting gear on Angus and so had to make use of one of Macintosh’s soldier’s quiver. The strap was too long and kept slipping off one shoulder of her gown.

“Have the sheep learned to fly?” Niall asked, solicitously readjusting her quiver for her. Merida tried not to shrink away from him.

“I thought the sheep’s tracks were too obvious,” Osgar spat. “They pulled up the bridge after they’d driven the sheep through so we wouldn’t see hoof prints at the bottom of the stream. We’re meant to think they went to Poolewe.”

“No decent shepherd would drive their flock through the Deep Woods,” Niall blinked, eyes large and doubtful.

“How would you know?” Osgar had carefully removed his boots and tied them over his shoulder. Very gently, he stepped into the stream, tested his balance, and then held out his hand to Merida. “I’ll carry you, Princess.”

“Very kind.” Merida ignored his hand and jumped out onto a small rock that protruded just above the stream’s surface. She hitched her skirts up higher and skipped to the next rock, even smaller than the last. “But not necessary.”

“My father has the largest herds besides the Royal Family.” Niall splashed into the stream after Merida and Osgar, unheeding of the water that soaked his boots. He took Merida’s hand as she balanced precariously on one foot. “I grew up with men who tended sheep and cattle all their life.”

“Perhaps we should ask the actual shepherd in the group?” Merida struggled to keep from falling into the stream and to keep the irritation from showing in her face. She’d had lots of practice the past month, and even Helen had complimented her on her restraint and “more desirable manners.”

“Every apprentice shepherd knows to keep his cattle away from the Deep Woods. The trees are too close and the roots too tangled. ” The shepherd girl waded after Niall, barefoot and skirts hiked to her knees. “You’d lose half the sheep from broken limbs and the other half from the demon serpent.”

“Bandits wouldn’t care about demon serpents,” Osgar said impatiently.

“It’s a cursed forest, milord,” said Elspet. “We hear strange sounds sometimes—wood creaking in a windless night, cries and shrieks in the blackest hours before dawn. Once we saw trees set ablaze. But just the tops. The flames never spread.”

“In other words, it’s the perfect place to go if you don’t want anyone to follow,” said Merida, trying to tug her hand away from Niall’s grasp, “Let _go,_ Milord D—”

Niall let go just as Merida pulled and she toppled right over onto Osgar. Osgar barely caught her in time, but overbalanced and hit the ground with a shriek.

“Ugh, I’m wet and I’m dirty,” Osgar informed her in disgust. “There’s mud on my clothes and it’ll take ages to get the dirt off my hair.”

Merida groaned and propped herself up. Luckily, they’d crossed most of the stream and had fallen right into the embankment. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

“Maybe I will,” Osgar responded and he raised his brows meaningfully at her. Their faces were less than a foot apart and she was half sprawled on top of him. With a slow grin, he said, “If you wanted to get on top of me so badly, you could just ask. Skip the mud next time.”

“You’re out of your mind,” she hissed, scrambling off him.

There was a low, smothered laugh behind her followed by harsh whispering and an, “Ow! You were the one who dropped her on me!”

Breath sharp and jerky, Merida brushed off the dirt on her skirt and sleeves as she approached the treeline. Of all the _stupid_ things he could say… She thought he knew better than to try his charms on her, but clearly the fool was pushing his boundaries. She needed to come up with some sort of discouragement soon else he’d be taking even further liberties.

Merida was fuming so intently she didn’t even realize that she’d outstripped the rest of the party. She’d just stepped past the first trees when she realized that she was alone. When she glanced back, she saw the young lords whispering furiously to one another and the shepherd girl standing underneath the boughs of the outermost branches. Her eyes were wide and she hugged herself.

“The demon serpent is just a story,” said Osgar, clapping a hand around Elspet’s shoulder. “Even if it wasn’t, I’ll protect you. You may be a lowly shepherd but you’re also a fair maiden.” At the shepherd girl’s unconvinced look, he added, “I’m Osgar Macintosh—the hero of the Highlands! Feats of my skill and conquests are widespread. Even Niall here has written a song or two about me.”

Niall muttered, “They weren’t about your skills or conquests…”

Elspet took a deep shuddering breath and muttered something underneath her breath. It took Merida a moment to understand the word—it was a single word repeated over and over again. _Deidre._ Her little sister.

Merida had little better patience for superstition and rumor than Osgar. Hadn’t she just laughed at Helen and her ladies for believing in the petty gossip spread in village inns? But the picture Elspet made—with her head bowed, shoulders hunched, but still fighting against her fears even though her face was pale as milk and tears still streaked across her dirty face—moved Merida more than the villagers’ pleas. Her decision to find the sheep had been motivated by pride as much as it had been by duty. But Elspet did what she did for love of her sister even though her choices terrified her. Merida understood that.

“I’ve a better idea,” said the princess. “Wait here for us. If anything goes wrong, if you hear anything strange, go back to Mallaig for help.”

“H-Highness, I can—”

“It would be a great favor to me.” She touched the girl’s shoulder gently. In a soft voice meant only for Elspet, she said, “I promise I’ll find the sheep for you. You won’t be blamed for the theft.”

At last, the shepherd girl nodded. She stood, rocking herself as Merida and the young lords walked further into the forest.

As the shadows grew thick and the silence pressed heavily against their shoulders, Merida could see why the forest had gained an evil reputation amongst its neighbors. Great tree roots wound like sinuous serpents across the ground. Sharp, prickly branches littered the floor and the dry leaves concealed deep ruts. It would be hard going to keep a family of goats on the right path much less an entire flock of sheep. Niall and Elspet had been right. No shepherd worth his salt would drive his flock into the woods.

But here and there, Merida spotted hoofprints on the soft dirt or a tuft of white wool on a bush. Excitement curled low in her belly. She’d been right.

“I don’t understand.” Niall’s voice was unnaturally loud in the harsh silence of the forest. “Why would they risk the sheep in a place like this?”

Merida glanced behind her. Niall looked in dismayed wonder at the tracks so plain that even he could see it.

“I’ve a feeling the sheep wasn’t what they were after,” Merida said grimly. “They wanted to create a quarrel between Poolewe and Mallaig.”

“But why?”

“Because villages at odds means easier marks to steal from,” Osgar said. His voice was even and matter-of-fact, as if he’d suspected it all along, as if he’d just been waiting to be proven right. “Among other things. We should head back. It’s clear Poolewe isn’t behind this.”

“No, it’s not,” Niall shook his head stubbornly.

“The only way we’ll know for sure who stole the sheep is if we find them,” Merida frowned.

“It’s not a simple robbery anymore,” Osgar retorted.

“Of course it’s not,” she gritted her teeth. “But Elspet and the people of Mallaig depend on their sheep, or have you forgotten?” Osgar flushed and she knew he had. She loathed that about him—how he seemed to just act the part of a hero, but never actually felt anything of what a hero was supposed to feel. He didn’t care about the villagers. He only cared about his reputation.

“I promised the people of Mallaig that I’d look for their sheep.” Her voice was quiet and even—her best imitation of Elinor when the Queen was at her most dangerous. “Will you make a liar of me, Lord Macintosh?”

“Of course not, _Your Highness_ , but I’m just pointing out the very real possibility of—”

Long, piercing shrieks shattered the silence of the woods followed by a rumble like distant thunder.

Osgar grabbed hold of Merida and Niall reflexively, his famously deep blue eyes widened to the size of plates. He whispered, “What was that?”

“It sounded like a banshee,” said Niall. He strummed his lyre, “Or maybe it’s—”

“Don’t blether nonsense,” Osgar hissed, though he drew _Bloodheart_ anyway. His grip on Niall’s neck was akin to someone thrusting a shield forward. “We should get out of here.”

“Do you see that?” Merida peered into the gloom. In the deep shadows of the distant trees, she could barely make out dark shapes running pell mell towards them. They were moving at a fast pace. Already, Merida could begin to see details—low to the ground, four legged and bulky.

“Stay behind me, Princess,” Osgar said, holding his sword out. “I’ll protect you.”

“Don’t be daft. I think it’s the sh—”

“Sheep!” Niall cried. Suddenly, hands clasped Merida by the waist and lifted her a foot into the air just as a wave of pale wool, sharp hooves and frantic bleats reached them.

“What are you doing?” Merida shrieked, thumping her legs against his chest. But Niall’s grip was iron. No matter how she wriggled or tried to pry Niall’s fingers loose, he wouldn’t let go. The entirety of the Mallaig herd passed by them and Merida could only watch in wonder and mounting fury.

Once the last of the sheep ran past, Niall set Merida down gently.

“You—” Merida whirled on him, nearly choking in her fury. “You are _never_ to—”

“You’re allergic to sheep,” Niall said, brow wrinkled. “Osgar disappeared and I couldn’t think of any other way to protect you.”

Before Merida could respond, Osgar ducked out from behind a large tree. “Phew, that was lucky. I think the sheep were even headed straight back to Elsa. Ilsa? Err, the shepherd girl. Now we can go back. Problem solved.”

Merida goggled in fury at the two of them. “That’s not—the problem is NOT solved! We still don’t know who is behind all of this! Or why they even let the sheep go!”

“But that’s not your responsibility,” Osgar said. “If anything, it’s mine. They’re in my territory, after all. We got the sheep back; you’ve kept your promise. Let’s go.”

“Of _course_ it’s my responsibility.” At Osgar’s raised brow, Merida added, gruff and awkward, “I’m the Princess, aren’t I?”

“And you’ve done more than any other noble lady would.” Osgar’s tone was conciliatory and condescending. It was her least favorite tone from Osgar and it did nothing to soothe her temper considering he’d effectively abandoned them. “The hunters and soldiers can catch the bandits. Come, my lady. Give them something to do. It’ll make them look good.”

“I don’t care about looking good,” Merida said through gritted teeth. “I care about about my people.”

Osgar stared at her as if he were trying to decide if she was crazy or an idiot.

“What?” she asked, unable to keep her temper from showing.

Osgar opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head.

“I’ll follow you,” Niall said in the awkward silence. “Wherever you lead. I’ll go.”

 

* * *

 

 

They’d never have found the cave but for the smell of cooking meat wafting from underneath the overhanging moss. The sheep’s trail followed a small, trickling stream that bordered the foot of a rocky, steep hill deep in the woods. A thick, grey mist crowned the peak and blotted out the sun. A path, barely visible from the undergrowth, was littered with boulders and broken stone as though some ancient edifice had crumbled from the peak. Osgar had to retrace his steps twice before finding the hidden entrance.

A makeshift pen had once stood by the entrance before the sheep’s frantic escape had trampled the fences. Beyond, a small cook-fire smoldered; its meagre light illuminated a campsite that looked like a bear had rampaged through it. Torn packs spilled traveler’s bread, slices of cheese, dirty clothes and a few coins on the dirt. A lone boot stood atop a dusty, patched cloak that lay fallen on the ground as though its owner had just come in, dropped his outer garments and shoes in a hurry and sat down to relax. Among the coals lay skewers of sliced mutton. The meat still dripped red. A carving knife had been dug, point deep, into a nearby log. Wooden chests, two large and one small, were lined against the wall. The lids were fastened shut with a large imposing lock. A fourth chest—scratched and splintered—had been knocked onto its side though its large bound lid was still sealed shut.

Osgar knocked the lock off one of the chests with a strong sweep of _Bloodheart_. Inside lay sacks of grain and vegetables. Osgar opened another. This chest contained bolts of cloth. The smallest chest contained coins.

“They _were_ bandits,” Niall whispered. “The grain and vegetables from Mallaig. The coins—that’s the right amount for the border villages’ taxes. The tax collector went missing weeks ago. We though he’d run away with the money.”

“Told you so,” Osgar said, though his voice lacked its usual acidic bite. He ordered Merida and Niall to stay at the outer perimeter while he inspected the camp carefully.

Merida didn’t need to be much closer to make her own deductions. She could tell that the bandits had been taken unawares. They’d only enough time to grab whatever was at hand before the fight began in earnest. Whatever had attacked, it had been fast. And ignored the cooking meat and the relatively helpless sheep in favor of taking the men.

Goosebumps prickled up her skin.

“I can’t tell what attacked them,” Osgar said finally. His voice was odd—half-annoyed and half-nervous. “I can tell you they’ve been using this cave as their camp for months now. The pen took them time to build. This campfire has been used often.” Osgar hesitated, chagrin evident in his jaw, then continued, “Whatever attacked them left no tracks I can see. Neither did the men.”

“I think they were eaten,” said Niall. For once, his hands weren’t on his lyre, strumming snatches of songs and humming familiar melodies. He was staring at the wall of the cave. A likeness of the strange tattie boggle they’d seen earlier was drawn on the wall—larger, more detailed, but faded as though it’d been drawn years and years ago.

“The bandits probably drew it to scare off travelers,” said Osgar.

“It’s not a drawing; it’s a _painting_.” Niall rubbed his hand against the dirt obscuring the shape. “And it’s _old_. I saw a painting like this once in a _Dal Riatan_ manuscript in the Queen’s library when I was trying to find the original words to _The Lament of Genovefa.”_

While Osgar scolded Niall about his obsession with the ancient ballad, Merida broke the lock of the fallen chest and lowered the lid. Rough, hand axes spilled out and—a body.

Merida jumped back just in time to avoid contact. The body didn’t roll so much as spill out onto the ground. Axes had lodged deeply into the man’s back, legs, chest, and stomach. His face had been bruised and his arms horribly shredded. In the light of the fire, Merida could see blood staining the axes.

“Is it dead?” asked Niall at the same time Osgar let out a tiny shriek and drew _Bloodheart_.

“Put that away, Macintosh,” Merida huffed, trying to calm her racing heart. “I’m…I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” She bent closer, twitching her skirts aside so she wouldn’t get the blood on the fabric. The man was bearded and scarred. He looked whip-thin, and his clothes, from what she could tell of the torn fabric, was patched and mended. His tartan wasn’t one she was familiar with. “Do you recognize him?”

“Nobody from around here,” Osgar whispered from her shoulder. “I’d recognize him right away if he was. My men and I patrol the border villages all the time.”

“He’s got a sword,” Niall nudged the hilt in the man’s grip. Merida had missed it amongst the axes. The surface was pitted, but Merida could tell it was of good quality—as good as any sword forged in DunBroch’s armories for its warriors. But the crossguard was unusual. She’d never seen its like. “Lucky that he didn’t stab himself with it.”

“Lucky that he got butchered with axes instead, oh yes,” Osgar said. “His friends get taken; he jumps into a chest full of weapons to hide; and then it, whatever it was, sends it rolling halfway through the cave to get at him. Luckiest man among the lot.”

“The cursed spirits of the Dal Riatans avenged themselves on the bandits for desecrating one of their holy sites,” said Niall solemnly. “He could have died much worse.”

“Can you tell who made it?” Merida asked, partly to distract Osgar from snapping at Niall, but more out of a burgeoning sense of confusion. There were half a dozen forges outside the DunBroch armory that could produce quality weapons and armor and of these, none sold their wares cheaply. Bandits could perhaps afford to buy a dozen hand axes on what they could steal, but a sword? A sword took gold coins. More than the border villages’ taxes.

“Wrong suitor,” Osgar shrugged, “That’s MacGuffin’s expertise. But look at the axes. All the edges are worn dull. There’s still bark and sap on the metal. What did they need so many axes for? And if you speak one word about enchanted creatures and magical rings, Dingwall, so help me…”

Merida straightened, a horrible realization dawning on her. “We need to get back right away.”

“ _Finally,_ ” Osgar said, following her mad scramble to the entrance. “Some proper sense of fear. Come along, Dingwall. I’m not tracking you down if you disappear.”

“Osgar, you don’t understand,” Merida said, nearly sprinting down the path in her haste. “The—the trees on the road to Mallaig. I told Niall—there were so many. There haven’t been storms strong enough to knock them down. I think—I think they’ve been using the trees to ambush travelers.”

“But—my sister! Helen’s on that road!”

 

* * *

 

 

Cloth ripped followed closely by the sound of muttered curses. Elinor never thought she’d miss the sound, but she did. The Queen of the Highlands hid a smile as her daughter continued butchering a handkerchief she was “embroidering” with a flower for her suitors.

“It’s been a long time since you’ve practiced your needlework.” Merida squinted at her mother, deciding if her comment was observation or criticism. Elinor’s serene expression merely betrayed the slightest disapproval over her daughter’s absence in the tapestry room.

“Lady Dingwall didn’t insist on needlework when I was fostered at Dinghall.” Merida stabbed the needle into the handkerchief again and missed a finger. Elinor didn’t think her daughter noticed. _Which,_ Elinor reflected, _was typical Merida—always taking risks and never knowing how close she comes to danger_.

The incident with the bandits and the sheep had been a classic example of her daughter’s foolishness. Not only had she insisted on tracking the sheep and the robbers herself, she’d raced right alongside Osgar and Niall to rescue Helen. Luckily, Osgar’s men had already beaten back the bandits and kept Helen and her ladies safe. Only Lord Dingwall’s solemn oath that the girls would be escorted home with thirty men personally escorted by Osgar himself had kept Elinor from sending out the entire garrison at DunBroch to fetch her daughter home.

Of course, the first words out of Merida’s mouth as soon as she returned home had been, “Mum, I need to borrow a couple men and help Osgar get rid of bandits. Did you know there’s been a lot of robbery in the Macintosh lands?”

Elinor stared, Osgar turned red, and Helen burst into laughter at the “princess’s humor.”

“It’s not a—” Merida began, but Elinor cut her off smoothly with a “suggestion” to embroider a thank you handkerchief each to Osgar and Niall instead. Helen seconded the suggestion with delight and, after a discrete nudge from his sister, Osgar said that he would be delighted to receive such a gift.

“Of course,” Merida said after a pause that had gone a little too long for comfort. Elinor had braced herself for a storm of indignant words, but her words were a steady, flat calm, “I’m sure Milords will have great use of it. Excuse me, Your Majesty. I’m weary and must rest.”

She’d closeted herself in her room with Sima and had only just been persuaded to begin the embroidery project with Elinor a few days later.

“How do you feel about the rest of your trip?”

“Fine,” Merida shrugged. Elinor let the silence stretch before Merida relented with a grudging, “I didn’t quarrel with anyone if that’s what you’re worried about. The lords were…hospitable.”

“That’s good,” Elinor smiled. “We’ve been hearing how pleased the lords were to have you.”

“They were pleased to complain or show off. Sometimes both at the same time.”

“A Princess—”

“Always listens to her subjects. I know, Mum.”

It was her daughter’s tone that gave Elinor pause. It wasn’t sarcastic or bitter. It was simply resigned. Accepting even. “Have I ever told you about the time Lord Macintosh was complaining about the great wolf haunting his woods? Of course, Lord MacGuffin had to start complaining about the man-eating shark preying on his boats, then Lord Dingwall had to join in with stories of the dragon plaguing the mountains.”

“I never knew there were dragons in the mountains!”

“There aren’t.”

Merida and Elinor stared at each other, and began laughing.

“They’re mad,” Merida muttered in between giggles. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes. “They’re all mad.”

“Wait ‘till you hear what your father has to say about Lord MacGuffin. Speaking of, have you responded to the letters from Alan?”

“No.”

“Merida, it’s been a week.”

“Been too busy embroidering for Lord Osgar and Lord Niall.”

Only a very generous person would call what Merida did to the first few handkerchiefs embroidery. The princess mangled handkerchief after handkerchief until she realized that staring out the glass paned window and into the storm only kept her stitching longer. The handkerchiefs since then had been decent quality.

“You could do so much if you just applied yourself.” Merida didn’t respond. Her tranquil expression was becoming just as good as Elinor’s. Elinor couldn’t make out the answers hidden behind Merida’s face. “You used to try so much harder before your birthday.”

“I know what’s expected of me.”

“Then you know the value of the tradition of fostering.” Elinor set aside her own needlework and leaned forward in her seat. “By having our children reared by our allies, we strengthen our allegiance and bonds of friendship.”

“Not all your children. Just the ones you’re planning on marrying off.” If Merida had been angry or bitter, Elinor would have known how to deal with that. But Merida wasn’t. Her words were calm and had no inflection. She had more emotion commenting on the excellence of well-roasted venison than she did now.  

“It’s not all about the marriage.” Elinor took a deep breath to put her thoughts in order. How could she communicate to her teenaged daughter how delicate this peace was? Merida was born in an age of plenty. She had never experienced war or treachery. “Our allies are more important than ever to keep the peace. Just because the clans swore loyalty doesn’t mean they’ll follow the letter. Clan Campbell refuses to open their territories to our traders. MacTavish herds are being stolen and they’re retaliating against the petty tribes. We haven’t word from DunFell territories in weeks! If you only paid attention to the reports coming from Antonine’s Wall—”

“Which means I still have to choose between the young lords.”

“Of course you do,” Elinor sighed. “The young lords aren’t all bad once you give them a chance, Merida. You liked the Vikings, didn’t you?”

“I don’t have to marry any of the Vikings.”

“Indeed you will not!”

Merida shrugged.

“You liked Hiccup not just because he wasn’t a suitor.” Elinor thought about telling Merida that she had seen them at dinner. Merida had come to the farewell feast for the Vikings relaxed and happy. She sat down with her brothers and even exchanged pleasantries with Lady Helen. Elinor had been pleased by this change in attitude then worried slightly. Had Merida murdered the young Viking and hidden the body somewhere? If anyone in the castle could do it, it would be her children.

Elinor’s fears were put to rest when the Viking entered several minutes later. Hiccup took in the spread before spotting Merida just as Merida glanced towards the door. Hiccup had given her a half smile and awkward wave. Merida smiled and nodded at him. For a moment, Elinor thought he might sit with Merida. Another Viking entered the door and put an arm around Hiccup, laughing.   He’d dragged Hiccup away and Merida turned back to her brothers.

“He was fine.” At Elinor’s stare, Merida added, “Will he come back?”

“A few more times, I should think.” It hadn’t been part of the trade agreement, but Elinor knew Hiccup was one of the few Vikings capable of speaking Gaelic. _Just like Val_ , Elinor thought. _He is so like her. I wonder how Stoick can bear it._ Perhaps that was why Merida liked Hiccup. As a child, Merida favored Valhallarama above all others. She’d sit spellbound at Valhallarama’s knee as Val told tale after tale of the Barbaric Archipelago.

* * *

 

_"She's got dragonsblood, El," laughed Valhallarama as they were walking through the rowan forest near the castle. Ahead, a tiny Merida planted her feet atop a log and stabbed at the gloom with a white wooden sword. The image was ruined somewhat by an even smaller Hiccup trying and failing to climb the same log._

_"Dragonsblood just means stubbornness." Elinor scowled and nearly tripped over a branch on the ground. Val steadied her without even looking._

_"Wonder where she got that from."_

_Hiccup tugged on Merida's skirt until the princess whirled around. He lifted up his arms, chubby fists opening and closing in the universal gesture for up. Merida scowled. She tossed her sword to the side, took his hands and began pulling him up._

_"Merida, be careful with him!" Sure enough, the girl overcompensated and both disappeared over the log. There was a shriek from Merida, an oomph from Hiccup, quiet, then simultaneous giggles. "It's entirely on Fergus's side of the family!"_

_"Of course," Val smirked. She paused at a sound Elinor couldn't hear, brows wrinkled in confusion._

_"What is it?" Elinor adjusted her crown back in place. If she had been with anyone else, she might have been worried. But she trusted Valhallarama and her instincts above all except her husband's. If the Viking heroine's hand hadn't drifted to the famous white sword hanging at her hip, Elinor knew they weren't in any danger._

_"Nothing," Valhallarama shook her head. She offered Elinor a small clip from her pocket. Elinor used it to anchor her crown in place. "Maybe it's the will o'the wisps Merida and Hiccup are hunting."_

_Behind the log, Hiccup's face was screwed in concentration as he picked out twigs and leaves from her Merida's unruly locks. Elinor might have appreciated it if his hands weren't covered in dirt. "Merida, dear, your hair—"_

_"No! No comb!" Merida jerked away from Elinor's reaching hand. The girl ran off, nearly dragging Hiccup behind her. Elinor watched them go, hands on her hips._

_Valhallarama hid a smile, "Look, El, you can't make your daughter do anything."_

_"You do. She listens to you. This hunting expedition was your idea."_

_"I gave her choices. I told her she could play now with Hiccup and have her hair combed later or she could have her hair combed now and play later. One or the other. But she must do both. She agreed."_

_"She's letting Hiccup comb her hair now."_

_"To be fair, she probably thought more of her hair would survive with Hiccup than with you."_

_Elinor tossed a twig at Valhallarama. Valhallarama laughed. It was the last visit she ever paid the Highlands._

* * *

 

Elinor shook the memory away. Val had been right. Merida performed better with choices. She was open to the suitors once she had the ability to choose among them. Perhaps…

“The princess must choose one of the eldest of the great clans,” began Elinor.   “To better inform herself to his decision, I am giving you the ability to choose who you will be fostered by.”

“What?”

“I expect your decision soon after the Hunter’s Festival. It’ll be a good opportunity for you to spend some time with each of the young lords,” Elinor continued briskly then smiled at Merida’s poleaxed expression. “Do you understand why I’m giving you a choice?”

Merida shook her head.

“You may not see it, but I want you to be happy. I want you to choose well,” Elinor squeezed Merida’s hand. “I want you to feel a sense of responsibility and shame if you run away.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lightning flickered outside her window. Merida would have chanced the weather but Angus was under strict watch. Elinor decreed that the next time the princess rode out, she would have Lady Helen and her friends with her. Perhaps another horse…

“Highness?”

“Come in.” Merida paused by her window. The torchlight from the stables was barely visible in the heavy sheet of rain. Merida knew she could sneak out with Blueberry if she really wanted.

Sima staggered inside. Merida glanced up to see her handmaiden carrying a bulky, wrapped package. Sweat beaded the woman’s forehead and her cheeks were flushed.

“Toss that with the rest. Didn’t we just get that poor half starved singing bird last week? Did you set it free?”

“Yes, Princess. But…”

“Can’t make heads or tails of their presents OR their letters most of the time. So ridiculous. Didn’t have the sense to send the beast with some feed so it could eat on its way here.” No, Merida most definitely did not want to be inside. Word would soon reach her mother that another present arrived. The queen would be at Merida’s door insisting she spend the rest of the evening cooing over the young lords in a letter—as if Merida’s whole life didn’t already revolve around them. Blueberry would have to do even if his footing wasn’t as steady as Angus’s.

Sima shifted her load to one hip. “I don’t think this present is from the young lords.”

“Lady Ailis? Has she finally written back?” Neither Merida nor Elinor had heard from Ailis in some months. Merida knew Elinor was worried. Ailis’s health was delicate and they knew the journey between DunBroch and Eilean Donan taxed the woman’s strength

“I don’t know, Highness. It came from traders in the town and sent up here. It has your name on it.”

“That’s new.” Merida seized the large, bulky package wrapped in waterproof skins. It had a familiar heft to it. “You sure there wasn’t some self-important idiot kicking the door down and singing the young lords praises with this gift?”

“Certain, Princess.” After the first few presents started arriving, Merida delegated the task of receiving them to Sima. Sima spent a good hour with each messenger as they had to be received, fed and thanked. “They’re very hard to miss.”

“Right.” Merida set the package down on her bureau and ripped the cover away. “The present must be so horrendous the messengers decided to scratch the name away because they were too embarrassed their liege lord would give such a present. Want to bet it’s another pile of rocks from Alan? Maybe a—“

It was a hunting saddle. Merida’s fingers traced the elegant, sweeping lines and supple leather in wonderment. She’d never seen such a design. Gently curved back for greater comfort in the seat; padded cloth moulded to Angus’s back for long trips; saddle bags, scabbards and an empty quiver arranged and attached for balance. It was so obviously made for her in mind.

“Beautiful,” Merida breathed without thinking. She turned to Sima. “It’s beautiful!”

“Why wouldn’t the young lords say the present was from them?”

“Because they’re strange.” She inspected the neat little pockets inside the saddlebags. It even came with its own saddle brushes and hoofpick. “Or maybe they forgot. I don’t care to—“

A note fell from one of the bags: _I only ride with the best._

Merida’s heart stuttered then began beating twice as hard. Color flooded her cheeks. Andres. Of course.   She remembered the harsh words they exchanged during their first encounter in the courtyard. Only he would sign such a note—a memory, a promise and a challenge all at once. She bit her lip to hide a smile.

“Is it from Rome?”

Merida whipped around and hid the note behind her back. “No!” At Sima’s stare, Merida amended, “Maybe. Are you going to tell my mother?”

“No, Princess.” Sima gathered began gathering the packaging to toss into the fire. She frowned at the saddle. “Just… “

“What is it?”

“You should beware such gifts, milady.”


	17. Hearing Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the Hooligans debate accepting the Berserkers' proposal, Hiccup is sent once more to the Highlands to secure further supplies. At the marketplace, he runs into Merida who is in disguise to avoid her suitors whom she has each promised to be her escort at the opening festivities of the Hunter's Feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lovely reader suggested that I post a summary/PREVIOUSLY ON... as a way to keep all the different plotlines fresh in everybody's mind. As even I struggle under the weight of all the different threads that I keep spinning (and can't seem to contract, gahh!), I thought it best to take his/her advice. 
> 
> THE STORY THUS FAR: The Outcasts have decimated Berk’s food supplies and revealed Hiccup’s connection with dragons to Dagur-chief of the Berserkers and leader of the largest fleet in the Barbaric Archipelago. Astrid knocks Dagur off a cliff before he can reach his fleet and declare war against the Hooligans. Hiccup delivers the comatose chief, against the wishes of his tribe, back to the Berserkers and blames Dagur’s injuries on the Outcasts. Knowing it’s only a matter of time before Dagur wakes and/or Alvin strikes again, Stoick sends his now disgraced son to the Highlands to negotiate and maintain a trade that would feed the Hooligans who are now preparing for , Hiccup meets the willful Princess of the Highlands under rather awkward circumstances (she has to set him free from a trap; he set her dress on fire). Back in Berk, the now defunct leader of the Berserkers Synnove, sister to Dagur, comes to Hiccup with a proposition of alliance against the Outcasts. The Hooligans weigh their need for intelligence against the Berserkers and the opportunity to assassinate Dagur over the risk of springing a trap.
> 
> Unrest stirs throughout DunBroch as the petty tribes resist the king, bandits raid entire villages and the power of the Roman Empire grows in the south. The balance of power shifts precariously among the Clans as the Princess of DunBroch refuses to choose her husband despite mounting pressure. As her freedom and her choices are stripped away one by one, Merida begins to understand that love has nothing to do with her future.

The luxuries displayed in the warehouse unsettled Hiccup more than bristling battlements and troops of Highland warriors at the castle. The day was warm, at least for a Viking, and the air inside the warehouse was stuffy. He shifted and sank a few more inches into the cushion underneath him.

The Roman merchant didn’t notice. The man was short, dark of skin and hair, and the kind of fat that didn’t include any muscle at all. Any Viking raider worth his salt would know in an instant this man was the ideal prey—rich and helpless. The men surrounding him were not.

Five in all, each as distinct from the other in age, height and coloring, yet all wore their weight’s worth in weapons. That didn’t intimidate Hiccup. He’d spent his life surrounded by deadly creatures and even deadlier men. No, it was their eyes that prickled Hiccup’s awareness. Their eyes were cold and dead like Darkbreathers.

Darkbreathers were dragons that lived in the deepest depths of the northern seas. The cold slowed their heart so their senses were dull to anything except faint, flickering light. Vikings knew better than to light their boats at night for Darkbreathers were big enough to drag an entire _snekjja_ under.

Hiccup had seen it happen once when he was a small boy. The Darkbreather’s eyes never changed as it dragged nearly a score of men under though Stoick had driven a dozen harpoons into its flesh. The dragon just hadn’t cared.

These men could kill him in an instant and Hiccup bet their heart wouldn’t beat any faster than right now.

“What can this humble merchant do for a strapping young Viking?” Rings flashed on the merchant’s fingers as he waved a hand towards his warehouse. “I have the finest oil from Athens, silk from Samarkand and jewelry from Alexandria.”

Hiccup’s mouth twisted at the modesty that was not modesty at all. The ostentatious display of goods left no room for doubt that the man carried _everything_. Exotic spices created a heady perfume in the air. Furs from animals Hiccup had never seen were stacked knee deep in one corner. Jars and vases painted with naked figures and mythical creatures lined the center of the space.

“I’m more interested in locally grown grain, thanks.”

An olive paused midway to the merchant’s mouth. The folds of his fleshy face scrunched as he squinted at Hiccup.

Hiccup had the distinct impression he had thrown the merchant for a loop, but couldn’t figure out how. Was buying local grain so strange in DunBroch?

“When the Emperor was strong, my grandfather could travel the length and breadth of the Empire without need of an escort.” It took a moment for Hiccup to parse the words out from the thick accent mangling the merchant’s Gaelic. “Now you need at least five to keep the bandits from robbing you blind and that’s no guarantee you’ll make it back home. It’s profitable to carry weapons. Olives?”

Hiccup shook his head and fought not to be distracted by the picture of the merchant lounging in his velvet cushion while a _thrall_ knelt beside him with a plate of food in his upturned hands. “Rye, barley or oats, actually. Cattle if you have it.”

“I thought Vikings only lived on glory and fish.”

“You can’t eat glory and nine month old fish tastes funny.”

The merchant’s laugh echoed in the warehouse, but it was an empty laugh. Hiccup felt as if he was missing an entire part of the conversation. A niggling voice in the back of his mind wondered once more if Stoick should have picked someone more experienced to lead the trading expedition instead of Berk’s favorite screw-up.

Hiccup opened the notebook he had folded underneath his shirt. “We need about thirty sacks of grain and six breeding pairs of cattle.”

The merchant choked on his olive. A slave rushed forward with a cup of wine.  

“The King’s bowyer said that you were the best merchant who traded in bulk. Was he wrong?” The perfumed air was giving Hiccup a headache and his tone was brusque. The air, the man, the location was unsettling and Hiccup wanted out as fast as he could.

“Ah, so the King’s man recommended me.” The merchant snapped his lips to savor the wine. His face was relaxed once more as he threw a careless hand to his mercenaries. “I am the _only_ merchant who trades in bulk numbers because I am the only merchant who invests in such protection. Still, such numbers are a little difficult to acquire even for me!”

“We’ll find the rest from other tradesmen if we have to.”

“I said difficult, not impossible.” The man’s eyes narrowed and he snapped his fingers. Another servant moved forward with a scroll. “I’d have to move supplies from other warehouses and wait for a ship to come in after the Feast. You will stay for the Hunter’s Feast?”

“If necessary.” Hiccup would rather get in and out as fast as possible. Stoick stressed the importance of following the Queen’s rules to the letter.   Any fighting between clans was strictly forbidden in DunBroch. Rulebreakers were ejected from the capital and their trade license was revoked. Between the number of Highlanders and drinks in the area, Hiccup didn’t trust the Vikings not to get in a fight. It was like asking a dragon not to breathe fire.

“It’s quite a sight to see.” The merchant’s voice was distracted as he pored over the scroll and scratched figures on the side. “The clans compete in the Games for honor and prizes. The winner of the Annual Hunt wins a treasure from the King and bestows his favor upon the lady of his choice. Many a bride has been won in these Games.”

“That doesn’t really interest me much.”

“A man of business, eh?” The merchant leaned forward and eyed Hiccup keenly. “You’re not at all what the stories say you are. Highlanders still shiver in their beds when they speak of the Northern Raids but you… Polite, well-spoken and not interested in feasting or gaming.”

“Not very Viking-like, you mean.” Hiccup couldn’t help the sardonic tone. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape that he was so different from his people.

“Not everyone can be a warrior.” The merchant shrugged and helped himself to another cupful of wine. “I have a proposition from a man of business to another. If you tell me what supplies you need, I may outfit a ship and come up to Berk myself. Where is Berk?”

Hiccup blinked. The proposition was temping. More than tempting. It would relieve the Hooligans the pressure of mounting their own trading expeditions and Hiccup wouldn’t have to be parted from Toothless. But just as the interest surged, doubts followed. Trader Johann, the most experienced of the merchants to ply the waters of the Barbaric Archipelago, was kidnapped or killed by the Outcasts. Berk lay deep in dragon-infested waters in the east. Even if the Roman merchant could make his way to the island, nothing would stop him from charging the Hooligans outrageously.

For the man was greedy. Hiccup could see that from the luxuries the man surrounded himself with. No seasoned trader plying the routes from end to end of the Empire would be able to carry such goods without considerable effort.

“You’ll never get past the dragons.”

“Are they really so dangerous?”

“The Barbaric Archipelago is nothing like Rome. If the Vikings don’t get you, the dragons will. They _always_ do.”

“What if I hired the famous dragon conqueror?” At Hiccup’s astonished face, the merchant added, “I’ve hired guides in the southern deserts, the deep forests of the continent and the great grassy ocean of the east. It’s the only way to explore new areas. Do you have a taste for exploration?”

Hiccup let himself imagine the possibilities. The whole world to explore on Toothless’s back without duties or responsibilities or failures weighing him down. He’d see lands that existed only as fairytales in Berk.

He wanted it. He wanted that freedom. But the Hooligans were depending on him however much they hated him. So he was stuck.

“Think about it.” The merchant’s smile was genial and knowing. He named a price far lower than the king’s bowyer said would be fair. Hiccup tried to school his expression, but the merchant caught it. “Good price for my first Viking customer. You can pay half now and half later. I assume you’ll be paying with royal coin since you traded with the King’s bowyer.”

“Castle gets first pick over whatever we bring in.” Hiccup counted out the coins from a small pouch by his belt.

“It’s the same for all foreign traders coming to DunBroch. That Queen is such a cunning woman. This place would still be a backwater province of Rome if it weren’t for her. The King might have united these warring tribes but she turned them into a kingdom. Meanwhile, our Emperor lets his _Legati Augusti_ scheme and plot against one another, gods bless him. It’ll only be a matter of months before he’s replaced again. How many emperors has it been this year?”

One of the slaves muttered a response. The merchant clapped his hands and laughed. “The sixth! There’s been more emperors than months in the year.”

“Roman Emperors get replaced?” Hiccup’s brow was furrowed as he handed over the coins to the merchant.

“By assassination.” At Hiccup’s stare, the merchant smiled. “We’re not so different from the Barbaric Archipelago.”

 

* * *

 

 

The fresh air outside cleared the foggy perfume clouding Hiccup’s thoughts. Negotiations with the Roman merchant, while successful, left him uneasy. Slowbottom detached himself from a wall and joined Hiccup.

“Good?”

“You could have come with me.”

“I’m just the man with the boat, Hiccup. Trading makes my skin crawl.”

“You mean you just didn’t want to put in more work than you had to.” Hiccup’s grin was wry and affectionate. He was becoming used to the crusty fisherman’s humor. “Some of the grain should be coming now.”

“I’ll get the men ready for it.” Slowbottom tactfully didn’t point out that the fishermen hadn’t been listening to any of Hiccup’s directions. If not for Slowbottom, Hiccup would have spent the entire journey alone and ignored despite that Stoick had made Hiccup the leader of the expedition. “You go and take care of the rest of supplies on that precious list of yours.”

“Thanks, Slowbottom. Sure you’ll be all right?”

“The sooner you leave, the sooner you can get back to that dragon.”

The fisherman disappeared through the crowd with an easy, loping grace made all the more insulting for Hiccup’s sudden tension. It hadn’t been a secret. Since Synnove’s visit, he’d rarely let Toothless out of his sight. He’d only managed to part from the Night Fury by extracting a promise from Fishlegs that the boy would keep Toothless and Meatlug close while Hiccup was gone.

_It’s not like they’re_ attacking _us or anything_ , Fishlegs tried and failed to say optimistically. _Just that they’re not happy to see us when we’re there. Pretty much the opposite, actually._ At Hiccup’s expression, Fishlegs hastened to add, _Even if they wanted to, they couldn’t do anything to our dragons. Teeth the size of swords, claws the size of axes, breathes fire—remember? Don’t worry about it._

All Hiccup could _do_ was worry about it. He worried about the dragons. He worried about the Hooligans. He worried about his friends. He worried about his father. He hadn’t wanted to lead the Highland expeditions at all. But the Chief had pointed out: _Who else can lead the trade without getting drunk or start a fight let alone talk to the merchants?_ When Hiccup spat out Gobber’s name, the Chief gave him a pointed look. What the Chief was really asking was whether Hiccup was willing to take part in Gobber’s plans to assassinate Dagur. And no, Hiccup wasn’t willing and he said as much. _Look, son,_ Stoick continued, _I know that you’re, well, not really good at what we’re, err, doing right now. But what you are good at, is talking to people and that’s what we need. In the Highlands._

So Hiccup had left.

The sweet notes of a lyre distracted him from his thoughts. The road widened into a proper street that opened into the central marketplace. Ahead, he could see the bustle of people milling through rows of stalls and pen. A few stands sold fresh breads. Another sold cheese as big as wagon wheels. A whole row dedicated itself to piles of apples, pears and strawberries. The row nearest the docks sold salmon, seal, pike and herring. It wasn’t just foodstuff that Hiccup could see. A popular stand with three women sold skeins of wool, flax and hemp. Mothers and children browsed through bundles of herbs in the stall beside it. Nearest the forest was a neat line of pens stocked with nervous goats, sheep, chickens and cows. Through it all, DunBroch warriors strolled through with short swords at their hip and friendly greetings at their lips.

Hiccup had never seen such a town as DunBroch. Houses thatched with sweet scented hay squatted low to the ground. A simple stone boundary surrounded many of the buildings. Hiccup marveled at the neat rows of vegetables and flowers growing within. The climate was harsh in Berk and the summers too short. Most Vikings just didn’t have the patience to tend the vegetables let alone flowers. In contrast, the town of DunBroch was bursting with flowers in every corner, wall, doorway and window box. The houses might not be as boldly decorated as Berk longhouses, but the buildings had an elegant simplicity that spoke of generations of tradition. Hiccup suspected many of the houses were as old as the castle.

More astonishing was the sheer number of people. Though the majority swirling through the streets wore kilts and spoke Gaelic, more than a few dressed in garbs and spoke languages far stranger than his. It wasn’t a perfect melding of cultures by any means, but it was far more open and welcoming than the atmosphere back home. With a pang, Hiccup remembered a time when Berk opened its arms to ancient enemies to build a better world.

“Save some for my Ada later, would you? She can’t have enough of MacGuffin apples.”

“Ruaidri can’t come on the Annual Hunt. He’s not even thirteen!”

“I’m telling you, it was a bull that stood on water!” said a young apprentice to a very unimpressed DunBroch soldier. “Then it _transformed_ a giant hunting bird and it ate the sheep!”

“A _boobrie_? Feradach, it’s not even noon and you’re already hard at the bottle!”

A ring of spectators before him burst into applause. The music began again. The words were unfamiliar, but the melody was one he recognized. A love ballad. Except… that couldn’t be right. The song was about a red sheep?

Hiccup wandered closer. A boy roughly the same age as Hiccup with a shock of blond hair strummed his lyre with expert skill. His voice was pleasant though the words to the song were strange. Hiccup hadn’t known Highlanders were so devoted to cattle.

“Thank you, everyone.” The boy’s smile was huge with pleasure. “This song is dedicated to my beautiful betrothed—Princess Merida? Where’d she go?”

Interest sparked in Hiccup’s chest. He hadn’t seen the Princess at the castle and was too embarrassed to ask. But she was here? With… her betrothed?

“She was spirited away by _Nicneven_!” an old man said. “The Queen of the Fey abducted the Princess once already when she was a wee lass.”

“Grandpa, stop! Mum doesn’t like it when you spin your stories.” A young girl tugged at his sleeve, cheeks coloring at the attention they were receiving. “I’m sure the Princess has just stepped away for a moment.”

“I was one of the soldiers the King sent out to hunt for his lost child!” The old man stamped his walking stick. “The Lady of the White Arms finally rescued the Princess after a month had passed. But it was too late.”

“How could the Lady of the White Arms be too late? ” frowned the boy with the lyre. “The Princess is still alive.”

“Yes, but she’d partaken of their food and drink! She’s wild-blooded now and speaks easier with beasts and trees than men.”

“Or perhaps she went to get some food.” This came from a brown-haired girl carrying a basket of flowers. “The Princess loves apples.”

“Haven’t seen any princesses or faerie queens all morning,” the apple vendor said to the laughter of the crowd. “Go on, Milord Dingwall. If you sing your song, the Princess will surely come back.”

“What did you say?!”

The crowd froze at the shrill demand in Dingwall’s voice. The apple vendor turned pale. “Um. I haven’t seen the Princess?”

“No, after. Say it again! Word for word!”

“If you sing your song, the Princess will surely come back?”

Dingwall sighed and strummed his lyre, “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”

The crowd looked at each other and then at the boy. Dingwall launched into his song about the red haired sheep once more. The confusion in the crowd disappeared and a few began to hum or stamp their feet in time to the song.

_O-kay_ , Hiccup thought. The boy was clearly a few Terrors short of a Murder. What was he doing anyway? He was here to trade not to look for engaged princesses. He had just stepped closer to the herb stand when the girl with the basket of flowers knocked into him. With a squeak, she tumbled back and her basket went flying.

“Gods, I am so sorry!”

The girl let out a startled gasp and backed away from his helping hand. Her eyes were huge and panicked in her ashen face. She muttered something too fast for Hiccup to catch though he thought he heard _Viking_.

Face flushed, Hiccup repeated his apologies in careful Gaelic. The girl stared at him, openmouthed. Hiccup collected the scattered flowers, careful to keep his distance from her. The girl winced and muttered again but it was still too fast for Hiccup to understand. He hesitated as his fingers caught the folds of a deep green cloak embroidered with eagles, snakes and wolves scattered beneath the flowers. Was this from the basket?

“I’ll take that!” The girl snatched the cloak away. She took a deep breath and said, “It was my fault. I’ll get the flowers.”

“No, please.” Hiccup scooped up the remaining flowers and deposited it in the basket. “Here, take it. I’m so sorry for knocking into you.”

Though she still looked terrified, the girl swept him a careful bow. “Thank you.”

“Sima!” The girl jumped. A blond youth about Fishleg’s size appeared next to her. He glared at Hiccup. “Who the hell are you!”

The boy’s accent was so thick. Hiccup had to mouth the syllables one by one before he could understand. In the silence that followed, the boy’s eyes flicked between the flower basket and the girl. His eyes narrowed.

“No! I’m not giving her flowers!”

“Ah, thank you for the flowers and the cloak!” Sima took the basket and stuffed the cloak inside.

Hiccup gawked. Once again, he felt like he was taking part in a conversation midway. He didn’t miss the way the boy’s face turned pale or the way Sima refused to look at either of them.

“You’re a Viking.” The boy’s words were slow, precise and clear this time. The way Viking rolled off the boy’s tongue made it sound like a curse word.

“Part of the trading envoy with the Queen.”

“I’ve killed your kind before, Viking!” The boy stepped closer to Hiccup. Hiccup looked at him grimly in the face. His heart was pounding in his ribcage, but he’d been bullied all his life. Jealous Highland boys were nothing compared to the enemies he had. “The Queen may be forgiving, but the MacGuffins remember the raids. If you set one foot out of line, break any rules, I’m coming after you myself.”

“ _Milord_ _Alan_ , aren’t you supposed to be at the castle yourself?” Sima looked desperate to change the subject. Though she still looked terrified of Hiccup, she looked equally annoyed with the MacGuffin boy.

“Erm, well.” The glare disappeared and the boy seemed to shrink into himself. Alan shifted from foot to foot. “It’s the duty of the Princess’s betrothed to escort her during the Hunter’s Festival.”

“You’re pledged to the Princess? Merida?” Hiccup winced as MacGuffin turned his attention back to him, but he couldn’t help it. Hadn’t the minstrel just proclaimed himself the Princess’s betrothed?

“What of it?” Alan’s glare would have melted stone but it was nothing compared to the icy flat expression on Sima’s face.

“Ah, nothing, it’s just that somebody else said—”

“Good day, milord. Sir.” Sima curtsied to both of them and left.

“Wait!” Alan jogged after her.   Even at a distance, Hiccup could see the hurt in Alan’s voice.

“I’m busy, Milord.”

“It’s Alan. I just… I haven’t spoken to you since the Princess’s birthday.”

“Yes.”

“Are you well?”

“The Princess is very kind.”

“That’s good. I was worried… I mean, I knew the princess was kind and I thought that if I had to—I can’t think of anyone better to—” Alan glanced up, saw Hiccup and glared. “Away with you!”

Hiccup decided to take that bit of advice right away. He was so intent on putting distance between them that he barely avoided another collision with a group of girls.

Wailing screams filled his ears and for a wild moment he thought the town was being attacked. They rushed him up the path and straight into a bare chested, dark haired boy with blue swirls painted on his body. He was carefully scratching a quill on to scraps of parchment thrust at him from the girls. “Lasses, one at a time! No biting or pushing. Ah, you’re the first lad to come up to me today. Do you have parchment or bit of armor or weapon?”

“Why would I—”

“You’re bold! Hand or,” he waggled his dark brows, “somewhere else?”

Hiccup’s face burned, “No—”

“Your hand it is.” The boy grabbed Hiccup’s hand and began writing in careful letters. He tossed a wink to the crowd. “I think he’s shy.”

“We heard you rescued the village of Mallaig, milord!”

“I don’t like to brag,” said the boy. “But, yes, I slew the bandits, returned Mallaig sheep _and_ rescued the Lady Helen.”

“I hear Milord Dingwall was there as well?”

“He provided background music.”

“ _Wulvers_ have been plaguing the Innerwick Forests, milord. Will you rid us of this plague?”

“My lady,” he stopped writing on Hiccup’s hand to fix the girl with a deep stare. “I will make it my personal mission to hunt every last one of these half-human beasts. Ah, right after the Hunter’s Feast, that is.”

The girls sighed and moaned all around them. One cried out, “Will you escort me for the Hunter’s Festival, Milord?”

“I would gladly escort each and every one of you ladies. But I have already promised myself to the Princess.”

The girls oooh-ed in jealousy.

“Have any of you seen the Princess? I told her I’d give her a tour of our longship and she said she’d meet me here.”

Hiccup pulled his hand away with a tremendous yank. It throbbed with the force of the boy’s writing. It read _Osgar Macintosh_ , _the Blue Wolf, rescuer of fair maidens, vanquisher of wulvers and bandits, fairest man in—_. Face red, he forced his way through the crowd and back into the ports where longships were anchored. He rubbed his hand, trying to take the sting away. His opinion of DunBroch was rapidly diminishing. The town was no longer charming; it was full of crazy people who were all betrothed to the Princess.

A figure wearing a Viking cloak with an oddly shaped patch descended from one of the longships and walked past him. Hiccup straightened. That was the cloak he left in the Highlands! “Hey!”

The person turned a corner and disappeared from view.

“Hey, that’s my cloak!” With a sinking suspicion, he followed. The side street was smaller with houses on either side instead of shops. Hiccup saw his cloak whip behind a fence. He started running. “You! You’ve got my cloak!”

A hand clasped his arm and yanked him behind the fence. Hiccup barely let out an, “Erk!” before a soft hand covered his mouth. The Princess glared at him from underneath his hood. “I know it’s your cloak, you numpty! Yell it louder. I don’t think the entire town’s heard you yet.”   
 

“Unbelievable.” Hiccup’s breath puffed out against her hand, but he didn’t care. A wild sense of déjà vu hit him. It was almost exactly how she absconded with his cloak the first time. He lowered her hand from his mouth to hiss, “The whole town is looking for you and you’re sneaking around in _my clothes_?”

“I couldn’t sneak around in my own clothes, could I?” Her eyes darted to the street. Passersby didn’t pay them any attention.  

“If you get caught?”

“I’d only get caught because of you.”

“Can you honestly tell me—”

“You again!”

Hiccup and the Princess straightened. At the entrance to the street, the MacGuffin boy whispered something to Osgar Macintosh and the blond musician with a lyre. Behind them, Osgar’s girls crowded a good three feet away.

The blond musician ignored his companions. “Someone said the princess came down this street. Have you seen her?”

Hiccup’s eyes flickered to the Princess. Her back was to the boys and her light blue eyes were impossibly wide. Her shoulders hunched like an animal in a trap.

“Nope,” Hiccup sighed. He tossed his satchel and notebook to the Princess who fumbled his belongings. “I’ve been talking to my man here about picking up some supplies. You wouldn’t happen to know where I could pick up some herbs, would you?”

Alan’s lip curled. “Come on. She’s probably the next street over.”

“No, she’s on her way home.”

“I told you we should check my longship. She’s waiting for me.”

“Thank the stars.” Merida shoulders sagged once their voices grew faint.

“I’ll have my stuff now, please.” Hiccup thrust his hand out, frowning at her. This was the last time he was helping wayward princesses.

“That was some clever thinking.”

Hiccup hesitated. It had been the first time he’d been complimented in a long while for something that wasn’t a lie. “Thanks.”

“If I stick with you, they’ll never find me.”

“Wait.”

“What have you got left to pick up?” She opened the notebook in her hand. “Are these Viking runes?”

“You don’t need to do that.” Correction, Hiccup preferred she wouldn’t do that. He tugged the notebook away from her hands. With his luck, the boys would find them anyway. Merida might be able to get away with a scolding, but he’d be lucky if he got away with a sound beating.

“Nonsense.” She made a grand, sweeping gesture with her hand and said in a tone that was teasing rather than officious, “A princess is always gracious.” She slipped the satchel on and looked around. “You’re looking for herbs, right?”

“Yes, but—“

“This way!” She strode into the street. Her hood was still pulled low but her head tilted every so often.

“Is this really necessary?” Hiccup followed, hissing, “I don’t need to get in trouble.”

“Goodness, a Viking afraid of trouble.”

“I don’t want to make any of the clans mad.”

“Then you’re out of luck. They’re always out of sorts for every little thing.”

Somehow, Hiccup didn’t think her cavalier attitude was one either the King or Queen shared. “If they find out I’ve been hiding you—”

“I’m the one hiding. You just happened to be the spot I’m hiding at.”

“They’re gonna think I was kidnapping you or—”

“Even they’re not that stupid. I’d’ve shot you full of arrows by now.”

“With arrows and bow you don’t have.”

Merida stopped and whirled around to face him. Face solemn, she replied, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Despite himself, he grinned. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

“Clever and quick,” she returned his grin with her own. “You just might keep up with me, Viking.”

 

* * *

 

She hadn’t meant to spend the whole afternoon with him. Despite her flippant words, she could see that he had been serious about avoiding friction with the clans. It rankled that the young lords could and would do something idiotic like that—think some Viking could kidnap _her_ instead of refusing to face the simple truth.

She didn’t want to spend time with them.

So she spent time with Hiccup instead. And he was _good_ company despite his grumbling. She only meant to get close enough to the treeline and make her escape. But as the hours wore on and he checked off the supplies from his notebook, she found it easier to stay with him than not.

Merida told herself she was doing him a favor. His Gaelic was understandable, but he was slow and precise in his words—careful to think them through and translate it in his head. After he nearly bought a dozen needles for a silver from a trader, she took over the haggling.

“Since when do princesses barter?” They stopped by Merida’s favorite apple stand and set down the parcels they were carrying.

“My hunting teacher taught me.” She took the opportunity to lower the hood and loosen the knot at her throat. The young lords and most of the crowd had already departed for the opening feast at the castle so she felt safe revealing her gown underneath. She rose to the balls of her feet and her fingers grasped the sky. She rolled her neck from side to side, feeling the tiny knots of tension in the muscle. “He hates dealing with people so he made me do all the buying for our supplies and selling what we brought back. I learned quick when traders were giving me bad prices.”

“They took advantage of the princess?” Hiccup peered at the stand and took a deep breath. His eyes closed and she didn’t miss the sigh of appreciation at the heady fragrance in the air.

“They didn’t know I was the princess.” She selected an apple and checked for bruises or holes in the fruit. Hiccup was right to be so impressed. The crop this year was outstanding. She held up two fingers to the apple vendor and tossed him a coin. “Linus hated entourages. That was part of the agreement to teach me. I was just some red haired wee lass following her uncle in the woods for six months.”

“Sounds like your parents gave you a lot of freedom.”

They did. And they didn’t. It was more freedom than a Princess ought to have and yet somehow not enough. Not ever enough. Like giving a stallion free rein of a wide field marked by clearly defined fences.

“Aren’t you going back up to the castle, Princess?” The apple vendor began packing his apples in sacks. “The feast will start soon.”

“In a little while.”

“Best be careful on your way up,” he said, shaking his head at her best innocent smile. “Strangers bring strange talk.”

“Och, you don’t believe in unicorn, _wulvers_ and _boobrie_ , do you?”

“I’m not the one the witchlights haunt.”

“You know better than to believe all that blether. If I had a coin for every faerie story people would bring my way or make up _about me_ —as if I’d forget if a giant wolf carried me away—I’d be richer than my father.”

Their words were exchanged too quickly for Hiccup to comprehend, but she could feel his vivid green eyes studying her expression. She blew out a breath to check her rising irritation. It wasn’t the apple vendor’s fault. Now that _Ballad of the Bear and Bow_ had become as popular as the _Legend of Mor’Du,_ the people craved stories of their princess’s adventures and didn’t particularly care whether it was made up or not.

“That doesn’t mean there’s not something strange afoot in the forest.” The apple vendor boarded up his fruit stand. His expression was serious and considering. “So much smoke means there are embers blowing in the wind.”

“You’ll be the first to know if I spot a fire.” She pushed the Viking a little onward to cut the conversation short.

“What fire?” Her companion asked, peering over his shoulder at her.

“Nothing. Have this.”

He hesitated as she offered him a deep red apple. “That’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

“Keep it for later.” Merida shrugged and tossed him the fruit. She didn’t understand his reticence. He’d been out at sea for—what? A good two or three days at least depending on the winds? Fruit ought to be a treat for him. Did he not like apples?

She crunched noisily into her own apple. She’d picked right. It was a refreshing combination of tartness and sweetness. Her eyes closed in pleasure as she uttered a soft, “Mmm!”

When she opened her eyes, Hiccup was looking at her.

“What?”

“Are you trying to—Never mind.” He was staring at her with a little crease in his brow. It wasn’t a frown exactly, not like the expression her mother wore when she found out Merida had caused some trouble in the castle. She’d been stared at before—by a crowd, by a young lord, by the Roman. But Hiccup wasn’t looking at her like an idol, or a prize or a conquest. His gaze was searching, not devouring, like she was saying something he couldn’t quite understand but was determined to find out.

“A princess understands her people.” At his quirked brow, she explained, “My Lady Queen loves turning everything into a lesson. She thought that if I wanted to learn archery and hunting so much, she’d let me apprentice for six months so I’d know what living as a smallfolk really meant. That was the price of my freedom.”

“Sounds like something my Dad would say.” The Viking scuffed his metal leg on the ground. His expression turned distant, closed even.

“Do you have a lot of freedom?”

“I used to.”

“I used to go anywhere I wanted. Just pick a direction, any direction, and off I went. There wasn’t anywhere I couldn’t go. No mountain, no river, no forest.”

“No sky.” Oh, the longing in his voice was so thick it made her ache. His gaze, when it met hers again, echoed the same desire and impatience she felt. Like the horizon wasn’t enough to contain them and they simply had to see what was on the other side. Her breath caught in her throat.

“I meant that metaphorically.” Face flaming, he coughed and picked up his sack. “You know… no weather. The, ah, weather in the Barbaric Archipelago is pretty bad…”

“Uh, certainly. Nine months of snow, right?”

His eyes widened. “How’d you know that?”

“A princess is knowledgeable of the people around her kingdom.” She repeated the grand sweeping gesture her mother often employed but she knew her smile was wry rather than serene. Hiccup didn’t need to know her mother’s exact words: _A princess is knowledgeable of her enemies_. At the time, Merida was simply glad to escape the unending clan wars. Learning about the Roman Empire to the south and the Vikings Tribes to the north was the most interesting part of her lessons that summer.

“How much do you know?”

“Most of what we know comes from the Northern Invasions,” she shrugged. “The tribes that participated, the weapons and battle tactics, the Berserker leadership. I know a little bit about the geography and how Vikings loathe dragons. My dad taught me all this stuff, but I bet my mum knows a lot more.”

“Because of my m—because of Valhallarama?”

Merida paused at the hesitation in his voice. Sympathy twinged in her chest. She still had her mother, but imagining life without her was all too easy. She had nearly lost Elinor last year to her own foolishness.   In a gentler tone, she said, “My mum doesn’t talk about her much, but I know they were more like sisters than friends. They exchanged a lot of letters.”

“Oh.”

She bumped his shoulder with her own. “What’s Berk really like?”

Hiccup stiffened. Whoops. She had intended to change the subject, but it seemed as if Hiccup was as uncomfortable talking about his home as he was about his own mother.   Had something bad happened?

“Cold. Wet.” He passed the apple from hand to hand. It was a nervous gesture, one that Merida recognized from Queen’s Tooth. Then he had a stone in his hand, instead of an apple, but he never ceased his restless motions with either.

“Hey.” She put a hand on his forearm and he stopped, wincing. Hiccup, she realized, was a terrible liar. She grinned. “It’s an apple not a ball. Eat it.”

“You’re really bossy, you know that?” The combination of reserve and sarcasm made her want to see him smile.

She stuck her nose up in the air and said in the snootiest, stiffest voice Elinor had drilled into her, “A Princess must always be bossy.” Hiccup’s smile was nice, but Merida decided his laughter was even better.

Hiccup savored his apple the rest of the way to the Viking longship. It pleased her to see him enjoying something she did, almost as much as it pleased her to tease him and see the dimple in his cheek as he fired back snarky responses. Merida could almost feel her mother’s disapproving gaze, but she didn’t care. It was a rare person in DunBroch who would actually _talk_ _to_ her rather than talking at her. She was going to take advantage as much as she could.

 

* * *

 

 

A small crowd of children gathered round the Viking longship muttering and pointing. She couldn’t blame them. The Viking longship, a _snekjja_ according to Hiccup, was twice as long and wide as the Campbell and MacGuffin longships beside it. Shields with bold patterns and colors lined the rails. The figurehead jutting over the port was of a ferocious red dragon.

“A Thunderdrum or Seashocker would have made more sense,” Hiccup patted the figurehead as they passed. “But Slowbottom was set on having a Monstrous Nightmare.”

“Oh clearly.” None of his comments made much sense to Merida. Was he talking about ship figureheads, real dragons or fish? “What are Thunderdrums and Seasnappers again?”

“Thunderdrums and Seashockers are Tidal Class dragons.” Hiccup’s voice suggested she was asking about the color of the sky. He narrowed his eyes at her best bland smile. It was a look she often presented to the lords whenever their speeches went past a minute. “As in sea dragons. Seashockers are the fastest seadragons. Good symbol to have on any ship.”

“As opposed to a Monstrous Nightmare which is a …”

“Stoker Class.” At her shrug, he lifted his hands and waggled his fingers. “They burst into flames when they’re cornered.”

“I see.” Now that she understood, Merida had to stifle a snicker. “Flammable beastie and wooden ship…”

“In a big ocean. Slowbottom just—”

“Likes to live on the edge.” A blond thin fisherman with his hands on his hips swept a sardonic eye over them. He said something in Norse to Hiccup who blushed and retorted back. Intrigued, Merida followed their exchange. His conversation was directed towards the thin, blond fisherman, Slowbottom, she presumed, but soon many others stood by the railings and listened with wide grins.

Norse was a strange language. More guttural than her own native tongue, but with similar rhythms and cadences if she concentrated hard. She admired Hiccup for speaking Gaelic as well as he did. Every so often, she’d catch familiar words but she couldn’t parse the meaning of the sentences. The sailors laughed, hoarse and gruff, and Hiccup scowled at them. His response was lightning swift and she thought she heard her name. He turned to her and spoke with an apologetic tone, “Merida, this is Slowbottom, expert fisherman of Berk, and his crew.”

The Vikings’ faces were slack with surprise as they stared down at her. One of them muttered something.

“Of course it’s the princess, you nitwit!” Slowbottom rolled his eyes. Merida was surprised to see him give a creaky bow. The other Vikings were startled into following. They looked like fat seabirds nearly toppling over and she fought not to laugh. “Your Highness! Welcome aboard the Leaky Nightmare.”

Ducking her head to hide her smile, she gave them her best princess curtsy and walked up the gangplank with Hiccup beside her. “It’s an honor, Captain.”

“Oh, just Slowbottom. We don’t stand on airs in Berk.” He gave Merida an up down look that should have been rude but was more curious than anything. “The Leaky Nightmare’s never had a princess on board before. No Viking ship has ever carried princesses unless you count the old Berserker legend of Genovefa. This is a first.”

“I’ve never been on a Viking ship either.” Hip cocked, her eyes skimmed the ship with curiosity. She was aware of the crew’s eyes on her even as Slowbottom dismissed them back to their tasks. They were less friendly than Slowbottom, more wary and some a little bit… hungry. They could have been any crowd in any village in the Highlands. Merida ignored them.

The _snekjja_ might be bigger but it was run nearly the same way as the river longships. Sailors lashed supplies in place using familiar knots. Others fastened the mainsail for the night. The only difference was the sheer amount of weapons stashed neatly near each bench. Huge axes and swords were kept in readiness and Merida soon realized the shields at the railing served as more than just decoration. Did they expect to be attacked?

Merida frowned. Her mother guaranteed their safety. No one in the Highlands would harm them.

“The Leaky Nightmare’s one of the finest vessels to sail the Barbaric Archipelago and has been in our family for generations.” Slowbottom’s face glowed with pride as he patted the railing. He spoke as one would of a child or even a wife. “It’s survived dragon raids, tribal conflict and carried three members of my family to their deaths.”

“Oh, my.” Merida’s brows shot up even as her smile froze in place and her tone was unequivocally impressed. Hiccup twitched. As soon as Slowbottom looked away, she glanced at him. Hiccup’s face was perfectly bland but for the crinkle in his eyes.

“I’ve only had to rebuild her three times in my life,” Slowbottom finished. His smile was missing some teeth but it was wide and full of affection. “The first because of a hurricane, the second because of a Monstrous Nightmare and the third because Hiccup ‘wanted to make some improvements.’”

“It _needed_ some improvements.” Hiccup swung the bags Merida carried on to his back. She was grudgingly impressed though she took pains not to show it. He carried it as if it were nothing in addition to the sack he already carried.   “Besides, I fixed it right after!”

“You can’t improve on perfection, boy.” As Hiccup stowed the bags away, Slowbottom turned to Merida. “Apologies for the boy, Highness. He was raised by Hooligans and has no manners. I’d never have let you carry anything if you were in my company.”

She snorted at his little joke. “It’s all right. Hiccup graciously accepted my offer of help.”

Hiccup made a face at her and she made a face right back. Nobody needed to know she threatened to hit him with a sack if he wouldn’t let her help.

Slowbottom frowned at the two of them, started to say something, stopped then spoke in Norse to Hiccup. He pointed to the cloak around her shoulders. Hiccup scowled and responded in kind.

“Oh, right.” Merida loosened the knot at her neck and gave the cloak a shake. It was good to feel the cool air against her neck and collarbone. “You might not believe me, but I took good care of your cloak. Even had it washed and stashed in my wardrobe.”

“Until you had to use it again.”

“A princess uses whatever tool is at her disposal.” Merida folded the cloak with a flourish and handed it back to him with an impish grin. Hiccup’s hand hovered over the proffered cloak and she glanced up at him. “What?”

His eyes flicked from her dress, to the sailors and back to her. “On second thought, better keep it on.”

“Why?”

“It’s getting cold.”

“I’m plenty warm.”

“I still don’t feel like being pummeled if we run into any of your…” Hiccup stopped, floundering for words. She waited, brow raised and tapping her foot. “In case we run into people looking for you.”

A sigh gusted through her. She was tired of having to hide all the time and in her own home of all places. While she pulled the cloak back on, Slowbottom and Hiccup conversed quickly in Norse. Merida folded her arms and let her gaze drift.

A breeze whipped through the lake, lifting the corners of a map on a bench. It was weighted by stones, daggers and a cylindrical tube with glass in one end. Recognition sparked through her. A Roman spyglass or something very like it. Her mother had spoken of the device to her father often in the past months, describing its properties and uses, and encouraging her council to find a supply. No luck. Spyglasses were used only by the military. If there were vendors, they were further away in the heart of the empire. How did the Vikings come by such a device?

The spyglass’s lens winked in the sun and illuminated a portion of the map underneath. The map smelled of mildew and the ink was fading but for fresh Viking runes scratched in places. She thought she could recognize Hiccup’s handwriting, but she’d only glimpsed his notebook before he’d snatched it away. In the bottom lay the familiar northern coasts of the Highlands. The top portion of the map detailed little islands, channels and tiny figures of dragons and men with horned helms.

“Interested in maps?” Slowbottom appeared by her side. Hiccup, having finished their conversation, was doing a quick sweep of the crates and sacks tied below deck. “My Leaky’s sailed a fair portion of the archipelago.”

“I love new places,” she shrugged. At the excited gleam in Slowbottom’s eye, Merida hastily interjected, “New things. How did you come by a spyglass?”

Slowbottom seemed thrown by the change of subject. “Err, that would be one of Hiccup’s inventions. One of the ones that turned out all right, anyway.”

“He built it himself.”

“Hiccup is the head apprentice of the Hooligan Blacksmith and a talented leatherworker besides. The village still depends on him for many tools. Needles, ploughs, saddles that sort of thing. Gobber crafts most of the weapons and armor. In fact, Hiccup made the rudder for my Leaky.”

Merida put on her best bland smile as Slowbottom told the story of how the Leaky Nightmare shattered its rudder against jagged rocks near the Mazy Multitudes. Inwardly, her thoughts churned over the revelation of Hiccup’s responsibilities. She’d known Hiccup was apprenticed to a blacksmith but not that he’d continued. She’d supposed that his upbringing was like hers. Elinor had let her apprentice with Linus as a child, but that was only a small portion of her education. Archery and hunting was only a tool used to understand the small folk. When she’d mastered that, Elinor taught her different skills. Similarly, she thought being a blacksmith was a tool used to understand and appreciate the weapons necessary for dragon hunting and combat. Why continue? Surely Stoick’s heir had more important responsibilities than crafting needles and saddles.

“Do you want to try the spyglass?” Hiccup’s question was timed exactly as Slowbottom took a deep breath for another story. Merida gave him a little grateful nod. He flashed her a small, rueful smile that made the dimple on his left cheek visible and he cocked his head to the back of the longship. “Let’s go.”

Their shoulders bumped as they negotiated the crowded deck of the Viking longship. The Viking sailors hadn’t stopped looking, but it seemed to bother Hiccup more than it did her. He kept his face straight and took care not to meet any of their gazes. She’d have thought he was too proud to mingle his with own folk, but she had seen how he had carefully stowed the sacks they carried neatly into place. That was unexpected. The young lords would have passed the task, so mundane and trivial, on to his men.

“Tell me what you see there.” Hiccup pointed to the Crone’s Tooth. Merida peered doubtfully. It was halfway across the lake. At his encouraging nod, she lifted the spyglass to her right eye and gasped.

“Seabirds,” she breathed. “A nest with a mum and three wee chicks.” She pivoted, eager to see other features on the lake. “I can make out the colors of that river longship. The fisherman by the shore. How big is the moon?”

“You like it?”

“Hiccup, this is incredible. No wonder the Romans didn’t want us to have it.” At his quirked brow, she explained, “Mum’s been trying for months to get a supply. You could probably make a lot of money selling yours or making a supply for us.”

“No, thanks,” he laughed. “It took me forever to make it and it’s not worth the trouble.”

She peered at him sidelong as he gazed out into the lake. The young lords would have bragged about how hard the task was and how only he, alone, could have done it. They would have told stories of their great skill and how their accomplishments reflected on their ability to protect her.   They would have dragged her up and down the longship, pointing at every timber and weapon, and extolling its superiority to the other clan longships.

But maybe, just maybe, Hiccup wasn’t like that at all.

 

* * *

 

 

“Elspet says they haven’t caught the bandits.” The innkeeper’s nephew Timothy, a strapping lad of an age with the princess, looked around nervously though there was no one else in the inn but for him, the innkeeper and the innkeeper’s two daughters. The girls glanced curiously at them as they tidied the room and prepared to close.

Her fingers drummed rapidly on the tabletop as she leaned back against her seat. So Osgar was lying when he said he had everything under control. She expected as much. “Elspet and Deidre? How are they doing?”

“She says she’s well, but…” The boy lifted the tankard to put his lips though there couldn’t have been much left. He’d been drinking like a sailor since Merida sat down. “It’ll be hard for them once winter sets in. It’ll be hard for all the women.”

“All the women?”

“More men have died. Not just in Mallaig but in the surrounding villages too, Your Highness. Fights break out. Bloody quarrels. Others disappeared in the woods. People are frightened and the women…”

“Can’t all make a living trying to be bakers or apple growers or shepherdesses like Elspet.” Merida’s lips pinched in indignation. How like Clan Dingwall to forbid women from tending sheep when it was almost the only living people could make from their land. She thought of speaking to the Queen, but… Well, she remembered the last time she tried to speak her mother about a local matter and been made to embroider handkerchiefs for her trouble. No, she wanted to demand that Lord Dingwall allow women to tend sheep.

She must have muttered some of her dark thoughts aloud for Timothy’s eyes widened. “Is that allowed?”

“What’s allowed?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if it was the Princess’s place to speak to—well, any of the lords, really.” At Merida’s pinched expression, he added hurriedly, “Oh, just about—about affairs of the realm. Soldiers and jobs and towns and the like.”

“Do I look like a pretty bit of decorative fluff to bring out at feasts and tourneys?” Timothy hunched so low in his seat that Merida regretted her rash words at once. Softening her voice, she continued, “Do you think Elspet and Deidre deserve their fate? To live on the scraps of kindness of others and be subject to mercies of the seasons?”

“No.” The words were almost inaudible, but earnest. He pushed his empty tankard from one side of the table to the next. It reminded her of a certain Viking who had a similar habit and who waited for her outside the village inn.

“Thank you for carrying my messages.” She slid a handful of silvers to the boy. “You’re…you’re absolutely certain there was no answer from the General?”

“Four times my da and I traveled the traders’ route from the northernmost MacGuffin town all the way to the last Macintosh village before the Roman Wall. The first time they took the letter. Each time they refused to give an answer. The last time they just told me to go back or they’d shoot.”

Merida couldn’t help but betray her surprise at this news. Andres had made it clear that he wanted nothing but friendship with the clans. He paid the lords gifts; he encouraged merchants to come north through the Wall to trade at DunBroch; he even spoke on behalf of the governor at Londinium to settle some trade disputes with the Queen.

“The men at the wall are different, Princess.”

“The new general brought some of his own men with him.”

“It’s not that. I’m not saying it well; I—I’m not very learned, Highness.”

“You did well, Timothy.” Merida’s fingers brushed the top of his hand gently. “I’ll remember it.” The swish of a nearby broom made her remember that there were others in the room. The innkeeper’s family was to be trusted but she wanted the least amount of people to know her missives. Time for a graceful exit. “Let’s meet in a few days. I’ll have a better idea on how to help Elspet and the others.”

“He’s not worth the trouble.” The words tumbled out just before Merida exited. She stopped. “My da always said that if a man can’t be bothered to say hello back, he’s not worth doing business with. He’s had more than enough chances. I don’t think he—”

“Stop. Please. I understand.”

“Err, well, my da says he has a bad feeling about the south. We won’t go back. Not anymore. I don’t think I can—I won’t be able to—”

“Of course.” Color flooded Merida’s cheeks as Timothy visibly relaxed. She’d only checked in with the boy every time he came through the inn. Of course, she’d had to ask for details of the trip because, really, no one could be relied on to get as good of a report. But to think that she would order him to go back to a place that had threatened to _shoot_ him? How desperate had she seemed?

 

* * *

 

 

"Is everything okay?” Hiccup’s notebook snapped shut as Merida exited the building. He’d agreed to wait for her by the low wall surrounding the town inn when she informed him that she’d needed to take care of private business before returning to the castle.

“Fine.” She refused to meet his eyes as she swept into the road. Traffic between the village and castle had slowed to a trickle. Good. Merida pushed the hood of her cloak back and set off at a determined pace. Timothy’s innocent warnings still rang in her ears, no matter how hard she pushed.

Hiccup’s boots crunched on the dirt as he hurried after her, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want Hiccup here. She wanted Angus and her bow and arrows. No, if she were to be honest with herself, she wanted an answer.

She wasn’t some dewy-eyed, silly girl of the court who sent out invitations to all her friends and relations. Her invitation to the Hunter’s Feast was carefully thought out and scribed. Her messenger, for she didn’t want her mother to know whom she invited unless she was certain of an answer, was not anyone from her clan. Merida had had to look for traders that made the journey all the way to Antonine’s Wall and who could be persuaded to deliver a message up to the gates.

Yet after all the trouble, that Roman couldn’t even be bothered to write, no, tell her messenger a simple no. Who was this stranger, this Roman, to her? Andres wasn't even a friend. If her mother found out, she would be horrified Merida paid this one visitor so much more attention than she had ever given any of her suitors. Elinor would think her daughter was touched. Even stupid.

She felt stupid. So what if he had given her a beautiful cloak and saddle? She was acting no better than Helen Macintosh who simpered every time some canting lad gifted her with flowers or a stuck pig.

"This is ridiculous."

"What?" Hiccup's gaze was wary.

"I've known these woods all my life. I don't need an escort to my own home."

“I’m not your escort. You're my meal ticket to the feast in the castle. Think of it as my fee for hiding you so well this afternoon."

"I hid myself." But her tone was without rancor and a surprised smile tugged at her lips. The servants would have shrunk from her temper; Helen would have pinched her lips in indignation. This Viking grinned a cheeky, careless little grin.

“Sure you want to keep your hood down?”

“Why not?”

“To be perfectly honest, I think I can make my way to the castle on my own now. If we get ambushed by people looking for you, I’m abandoning you”

“Is that so?” A huff of laughter escaped her.

“Nothing gets in between a Viking and his meal. Not even pretty girls.”

A crack like thunder rent the air. Darkness descended on the forest floor. Hiccup flung himself on top of her and they crashed to the road.

“What are you doing?” she spluttered, crushed underneath his weight—far heavier than she’d have ever guessed considering his gawky frame. It was disconcerting to realize he remained unyielding despite her best efforts to heave him off. He must be taller than Alan MacGuffin the way his body covered hers so completely.

His chest expanded in rapid, harsh breaths. His arms were rigid around her—a solid band of tension that caged her as much as it held him up. He wasn’t moving; he was—listening. Waiting.

A flare of alarm stilled Merida’s efforts to elbow him. What had he seen? Against her better judgment, she closed her eyes and let her senses extend outward. She ignored the grit of the road beneath her fingers, of Hiccup’s body braced above her own, and their combined harsh breathing.

A lapwing chirped uncertainly nearby. A hare rustled through the hedges near the road. The wind sighed through the rowen trees, a rough discordant sound she’d never heard before from these particular woods. Merida frowned. That was peculiar.

Hiccup let out a small sigh of relief, the tension draining from his muscles. He braced himself a few more inches, enough to make breathing comfortable once more, but not enough for Merida to wiggle free. Annoyed, she rolled on to her back.

He looked at something in the woods with a focused alertness. It was something she’d never seen on his face before. For a fleeting moment, her eyes lingered on the freckles on his face, the scar on his chin and his eyes—the precise shade of green in a moss-strewn forest.

“Getting comfortable, are we?”

The Viking jumped off her as if he was a scalded cat. His face was as red as an apple as he extended out his hand. “Gods, I am so sorry! Did I hurt you?”

“No, never mind all that.” Merida batted away his helping hand and brushed the dirt off with as much dignity as someone who had been squished to the road could manage. “What did you see?”

“I didn’t see anything. I—I tripped.”

“You tripped on top of me.”

“Um, yeah. I—I’m really sorry. I need to go. I need to walk it off.”

“Walk what off? You weren’t the one crushed to the ground!” Merida stared in amazement at his back as he disappeared into the woods.

“My embarrassment!”

“But… the castle is in the opposite direction!” Merida’s breath left her in a huff. Was he mad? Did a wild dog bite him outside the inn while he waited for her? He didn’t look like he was frothing at the mouth. But why had thunder spooked him? Merida sniffed the air. It didn’t seem like a storm was coming, but Highland weather was famously inconsistent. Come to think of it, the shadow that had fallen over the forest floor had disappeared as well.

Concern and curiosity got the better of her. Either Hiccup was a bigger coward than she thought, unlikely given he’d climbed Queen’s Tooth with hardly a complaint, or he had gone crazy. Perhaps he really did see something and had stupidly gone off into the forest without a thought as to whether it might eat him.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered. “Mum’s gonna blame me if anything happens to him. I just know it.”

Her gown made a soft “shh” as it slid over leaves. The green silk shot with orange caught over tree roots and twigs. Merida cursed Helen for cornering her in the dress.

“But I’ve made the alterations you requested for the sleeves, Princess,” she had said with a blank, innocent face that signaled evil intentions. No matter that Merida protested it was too fine a gown for walking about the town. The Macintosh girl promised Merida that she would make sure the young lords walked at a sedate pace and that attendants would be on hand to help the princess with her gown. Of course, Merida had had no intention of walking at a sedate pace or with the young lords or with any kind of attendant. She also hadn’t counted on hiking into the woods, either.

It was the silence that sent a warning pulse through Merida. The air was cold, unseasonably so, and carried the scent of freshly cut wood and something else. Something familiar that Merida had scented before. It was the smell of the forest around Mor’Du’s lair—winter chill.

The boy crouched a few feet ahead, rubbing his fingers against the edge of a damp tree root and sniffing. The Viking stood up and nudged at the thick tree branches in front of him. The muddy forest floor was littered with branches and leaves, far more than the summer season accounted for.

She glanced up and nearly gasped. The tops of the trees were cut off as if by a single stroke from a woodsman. Almost as if it was beheaded.

What had Elspet said of the Deep Woods? _Once we saw trees set ablaze. But just the tops. The flames never spread._

But there were no scorch marks here nor the fire pit scent of burned rowan. She must have made some noise for Hiccup noticed her then. His mouth was parted, eyes soft and intense the way her mother’s eyes sometimes got when she told Merida stories about magic and lost kingdoms.

“It’s you,” he breathed in a soft, low voice before it sharpened, becoming more high pitched. “You’re here! In the woods! With… with um…”

“With you? Don’t be daft.”

When she was no more than an arm’s length from him, Merida could see that Hiccup’s green eyes were wide. “Um, yes. Exactly. Yes. With me.”

“What is—”

“Why are you with me? Shouldn’t you be with your betrothed? One of them anyway? How many do you need? Are they all really engaged to you?”

The impertinence of the question made Merida take back a step. “That’s… that’s none of your business!”

“You’re not betrothed to them.”

“I—”

“You don’t know if you’re betrothed to them?”

“Of course I know! I am betrothed.” Merida dug her fingernails into her palms. If she punched him, it would undoubtedly bruise and Elinor would find out. She let out a long, hissing breath and amended, “In theory.”

“How can you be theoretically betrothed?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So why don’t you want to spend time with your theoretical betrothed? Isn’t that how betrothals go—theoretical or otherwise? What are you going to do when you’re married to them? Do you marry all of them?”

“Just because I’m a princess and they’re my suitors doesn’t mean I’m going to automatically fall in love with them. I’m a _person_ and they’re people too. Falling in love isn’t like how it is in songs. _I’m not a red sheep!_ ”

The Viking stared at her. She couldn’t read the expression in his face and suddenly, she didn’t want to. “Why am I even telling you anything! You’re mad! Tripping over people and following shadows!”

Fury made her graceful. She ripped the cloak from her shoulders and flung it at his feet. The sheer nerve of the boy. Asking her about her suitors? As if it was any business of his! As if he had a right to know the details of her personal life! He was nobody and she should never have even spent time with him.


	18. The Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiccup's attempt to sneak off during the Hunt and track down a wild dragon in the Highlands is complicated by company of three young lords and one stubborn princess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on CROSSING THE HORIZON: While resupplying at DunBroch, Hiccup runs into the young lords who are in search of their missing betrothed. To Hiccup’s chagrin, Merida has used the cloak he’d left behind in his previous visit to evade her suitors and skip the opening festivities for the Hunter’s Feast. In return for the use of his cloak, Merida escorts Hiccup to the best tradesmen and vendors in town. On their return to the castle, her messenger reveals that there has been no response to her invitation to the Hunter’s Feast. Further, the situation among the women in the Dingwall territory worsens. As she and Hiccup return to the castle, the Viking reacts strangely to what Merida perceives to be a passing storm cloud. She tracks Hiccup to a strange clearing in the woods. Hiccup questions her relationship to her suitors.

Hiccup knew as soon as the words left his mouth that something had been missed in translation. Fergus, Kincaid and the nearest warriors guffawed in the morning sunlight. Not the desired reaction to manfully proposing he hunt his own game outside of the Royal Hunting Party. Throughout the opening feast of the Hunter’s Festival and the morning after, the King had given his leave to several men who asked for permission to hunt their own game. Perhaps Hiccup had ignored some formality or ceremony and now the King and his men were laughing at his audacity?

“He wants to hunt wild fowl, Dad.” The Princess walked her mount up to her father. She was the only female in the Hunt and one of the smallest people besides. She should have looked doll-like for she rode the biggest horse in the entire party. But she didn’t. Instead she looked dangerously competent with her bow, arrows and hunting knives.

“Is that what you were asking, lad?” Fergus’s smile was kind even if chuckles kept overflowing from his lips. At Hiccup’s nod, he laughed. “It sounded like you wanted to hunt—” Here, the king repeated the same word Hiccup had used. One of the warriors next to Fergus made clucking noise.

“Does our Viking want to become a chicken hunter?” Osgar Macintosh joined the growing crowd followed closely by Merida’s other betrothed. Alan MacGuffin spared him a brief death glare. Niall Dingwall, Hiccup learned his name the previous night when the boy sang ballad after ballad of some ancient people called the Dal Riatans, carried his harp with him. Hiccup cursed himself for asking the King and cursed himself even more for accepting the invitation to join the Royal Hunting Party in the first place.

When Elinor had asked Hiccup to join the Royal Hunting Party, he’d been too grateful at the apparent honor and too pleased at the opportunity to slip away and track the timberjack (it had to have been a timberjack!) from the night before. It was only after the King had recited the 112 names of men who’d died honorably due to dismemberment, punctured organs or shattered skulls did Hiccup began to realize that he was, quite possibly, out of his depth.

Hiccup would have liked to ask the King’s permission when Fergus was alone. But the King was never alone. Only panic at realizing he’d have to ride his archenemy Blueberry at a dead gallop with howling hounds, hollering men and flying weapons made him spit the words out when the King was surrounded by his hunters and now by his daughter and her betrothed. Why _did_ she have so many betrothed?

“You have my permission, lad,” Fergus beamed. “Catch us a good fowl.”

“Woods southwest of the castle have the best widgeon and geese.” Kincaid’s attempt at a peace offering was marred by a too-wide smile. “It’s close. Best to leave the horse behind.”

“I’ll show him.”

Osgar and Alan gaped like fish. The King and his men were aghast. Niall plucked a deep low note on his lyre with dramatic aplomb, “They grew their castle with tree roots and ice!”

The King stammered, “But you’ll miss the Hunt.”

At her father’s words, Merida’s expression softened and she gave him a cheeky little grin. “You’ve several archers good enough for the job.”

“Aye, I suppose so.” The arrival of the kennel master and his charges distracted the King. The hounds seemed to signal the immediate departure of the hunt. Men mounted their horses. “Well, if you’re certain, my wee darling.”

“Hiccup and I will bring back a fatter fowl than your little suckling pig.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary in the least.” In fact, her presence would most definitely ruin his plans.

“But I insist.” The Princess’s smile was saccharine with an edge. It said, _What are you gonna do to stop me?_

Any gratitude he felt for her intervention earlier evaporated. Was this her way of getting back at him from the incident in the woods?

He tried to apologize at dinner, but, like her father, she was always escorted. If she was not with her betrothed, the beautiful girl with blue-black hair was nearby. Sometimes her brothers or her parents joined them. That was the only time she laughed.

Hiccup had given up trying to talk to her. Instead, he had left his cloak, abandoned as she stormed away from him in the woods, in a bundle at her doorstep with a small note that read: _For when you need a quick exit when I’m not here._

So much for that.

“You shouldn’t be alone with a Viking.” It was incredible the way MacGuffin’s behavior transformed around her. The fierce warrior was a replaced by a boy who looked every bit his eighteen years. Alan couldn’t meet Merida’s eyes and his voice had diminished to a whisper.

“Nonsense.” The Princess barely acknowledged him with a glance. She jerked a quick, impatient nod to Hiccup who scrambled to get down from Blueberry. It might have seemed like an ungraceful slide, but Hiccup told himself he landed feet first so that was all that mattered. “Hiccup is the Viking ambassador and heir to Stoick the Vast. I’ll be as safe with him as if I were in the castle.”

“Then I'll escort you.” Hiccup had to give Macintosh credit. The boy adapted quickly. He signaled for a man to take his horse and he dismounted with an enviable grace and a quick flick of his hair. Alan and Niall followed suit.

“My lords, we don’t need escorts to hunt _birds_ ,” Merida said.

At the same time Hiccup burst out, “You can’t all go with me.”

“Why?” Alan asked.

“Because… because…”

“If you think you can work some mischief,” said Alan, taking a threatening step towards Hiccup.

Before Hiccup could react, Niall burst into song, “With moss-coat and one leg, he dared to hunt the sheep of Dal Riata!”

They all stared at Niall who was humming contentedly and swayed from side to side with his shoulders occasionally twitching.

“Is he…having a fit?” Hiccup asked. “Should we maybe call the healer?”

“Hard to tell sometimes,” Alan shrugged, crossing his arms.

“I have decided!” Niall stopped swaying and said with eyes overly large and serious. “I shall write a song of your hunt and recite it to the Court tonight.”

“What? That’s a—”

“Excellent idea!” Osgar said. “Can’t ruin Niall’s ballads, can we?”

 

* * *

 

 

Niall gave a deep flourishing bow with a hand extended. Merida stepped over the log, ignored the hand and strode into the cool forest. “This way.”

“Quite right, Princess.” Osgar tripped over the log and grabbed Niall’s still outstretched hand. “Thank you, good man. Princess, wait!”

Niall, to his credit, kept his hand outstretched for both Alan and Hiccup. It took everything in Hiccup not to stare and murmur a polite, “No, thank you.”

Alan dispensed with formalities and uttered a terse, “Does it look like I need help?” The log was only shin-height for Alan and Hiccup, the tallest of the hunting party of five.

“Osgar appreciated—”

“I’m not Osgar.”

Hiccup walked double quick to catch up to the Princess and Osgar. The Macintosh heir murmured, “Good variety today. Lots of pheasants. Geese track are probably northwest nearer to the water.”

“Dad’s hounds probably flushed the lot of them out.”

“Easy pickings. Too easy for the likes of you and me.”

Merida huffed a strand of hair from her face. “It’s not _our_ hunt, milord.”

Hiccup’s face reddened at their combined scrutiny. Their actions in the woodland bespoke of years of experience. He’d had never seen a widgeon before unless he counted the tapestries in the castle.

“Stop repeating what I’m saying!”

“If you don’t like what comes out of your mouth, then don’t say it.” Niall held his lyre like a barrier against young MacGuffin. Though his voice still maintained it’s calm, dispassionate tone, his fingers twitched against the lyre strings. “I’m not going to lie in my ballad just to make you look good. What will people think of my artistic integrity?”

“I don’t care about your artistic integrity—”

“Milords, please,” Merida’s voice held something of Queen Elinor’s iron tone that made grown men scurry way. Niall and Alan straightened but they continued glaring at one another. “Ugh. Milord Macintosh, help our young Viking ambassador if he needs it, would you? I need to play peacemaker.”

“Anything at all, Princess.” Osgar’s smile was perfectly winsome until he dropped his gaze from the Princess’s back and looked at Hiccup. “Time to see what our young Viking is made of.”

The next few hours were some of the most miserable Hiccup had ever spent in the Highlands. Between Osgar’s “helpful advice”, Alan’s thrashing through the woods, and Niall’s incessant songs of curses, ghosts and fire falls, Hiccup was sure they scared half the animals out of the forest. It was enough to make him think longingly of all the fun he could be having dodging spears, flailing men, baying hounds and a wild boar with the Royal Hunting Party.

“So that clearly looks like pheasant tracks.”

“It's just a pile of dung, mate." A shadow of a grin flickered across Osgar’s lips as he gazed steadily back at Hiccup’s pinched face. “But, by all means, check.”

“ _A pile of dung!_ " Niall strummed his lyre with dramatic flair. The boy had shadowed each member of the party of five. It was like having a personal chorus narrate bits of unfortunate conversation back into the world.

Hiccup bit his lip to keep from hissing at the boy to keep quiet.

“Niall, I think you’ve got enough to make your verse on Hiccup, don’t you?” The Princess’s voice was gentle with Niall as it seldom was with anyone else. Hiccup glanced back, irritation making his brow furrow. This was all her fault. If it weren’t for her pigheadedly insisting that she accompany him, the young lords wouldn’t have come either and Hiccup would be free to pursue the timberjack from the night before.

“Quite right, my Princess.” The Dingwall heir hummed as he walked back to Merida and Alan. “I can do a lot with dung.”

Osgar’s blue painted chest shook in silent laughter. “You should include that.”

“Please don’t.” Alan, the Princess’s silent walking partner ‘till now, shook his head. The boy leapt up a large fallen tree trunk and offered Merida a hand up.

“I don’t need help.”

“But your dress…” His glance was shy as he looked over her attire. Her dark purple gown with a gray flower trim was obviously of fine make. She’d added a sleeveless brown suede jacket that cinched at her waist and had tied the sleeves of the white chemise back to expose a dark brown bracer on her left arm. “I shouldn’t want you to ruin it by scrambling up logs. Lady Helen said—”

Merida vaulted up in a motion so smooth her skirt barely touched the ground. Alan’s face reddened, an expression he wore often when near his betrothed though she spoke the least to him. Hiccup felt a twinge of sympathy that withered as soon as the MacGuffin suitor caught his eye and glowered.

“There’s a rabbit’s trail in case you wondering.” Osgar’s voice had taken on a singsong quality that set Hiccup’s teeth on edge.

“I knew that.” Hiccup’s eyes darted forward over the shadowed woods, scanning for impressions. Rabbits weren’t native to Berk, but Stoick had taken a very young Hiccup hunting often in the Peaceable Country. Rabbit tracks were something he could recognize. Hiccup wished he’d paid more attention to Stoick’s hunting lessons.

“You know, Hickory, I think I understand the… ah, lackluster performance.”

Hiccup was so intent on finding the tracks he barely registered Osgar’s words. “Mhmm.”

“I can call you Hickory, right?”

“It’s Hiccup.” The tracks were almost invisible underneath a bush. He pushed the leaves aside and saw a promising trail. His first in the entire Thor-blasted day. The sooner they could bag some rabbits, the sooner they’d leave him alone.

“It’s hard to function when your idol is watching you.”

“Sure.” He took a few steps before the words sunk in. “Wait. What?”

“Thought I forgot, didn’t you?” Osgar winked at him as he strolled by.   The Macintosh suitor followed the faint impressions on the ground with insulting ease. “I remember you asking for my autograph yesterday.”

Somewhere behind them, Niall hummed, “ _He asked for the Blue Wolf’s name!_ ”

“I did not—!”

“In the interest of actually bringing something back to the castle,” Hiccup couldn’t miss the exasperation in Osgar’s voice and had the grace to blush, “I want you to pretend as if I wasn’t here. No pressure.”

_They’re all morons_ , he thought, eye twitching. A scuffle behind saved the Viking from responding.

“Milord MacGuffin, why don’t you help Hiccup and Lord Macintosh? Milord Dingwall, I would like you to recite your song from beginning to end.”

“I’m not going to help some Viking—”

“The song isn’t ready—”

“Please.” There was an ominous silence that was soon broken by the melodious strumming of a lyre. Niall’s voice filled the air, low and soothing.

_The young Viking begged the King’s Favor_

_Lo, he said, to Hunt some Chickens!_

Hiccup’s shoulders hunched as he hurried to follow the rabbit tracks. The hunting expedition was a nightmare that wouldn’t end.

“Rabbits have gone to ground. Best to follow goose tracks now. There’re at least two to the north near the watering hole. That is,” Alan’s lips were mashed into an unhappy line as he drew even with Hiccup and Osgar, “if you can manage it.” Behind them, Niall’s song grew louder.

“Don’t mind Alan, Higgles.” The Macintosh heir strode in the direction Alan pointed. The delusional prat paused to scrape some mud off his boot. “You see, he thinks that you like a girl in town—“

“I don’t like that girl in town. I barely met her! I swear I was only helping her pick up the basket.”

Osgar and Alan exchanged a look. Alan’s frown eased but his fists remained clenched at his side. Osgar shrugged but his voice turned low and serious as it hadn’t before. “I suppose town girls aren’t your type. Perhaps girls in castles—“

“No, I’m not into that either.” Only a fool would not realize where this line of questioning lead. Just to be safe, he added, “No feelings for no girls whatsoever.”

“Oh.” Osgar’s confusion slowly gave way to dawning delight. “Oh! I see. That explains everything. Alan, I told you I didn’t feel threatened by him at all.”

Hiccup wasn’t sure how that explained everything save that he didn’t like either Sima or Merida. Alan, judging by his furrowed brow, was as lost as Hiccup. Niall’s singing had grown even louder and taken on a more strident tone to match Osgar’s volume.

_The boar! The boar!_

_Tusks strong as spears!_

_Teeth sharp as knives!_

“Viking!” Osgar spun round to clap Hiccup on the back. He barely refrained from jumping back. “I congratulate you on your candor. I approve of your lifestyle and your lifestyle choices.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Many of my admirers also have your lifestyle. I don’t treat them any differently.” Hiccup seriously doubted he had any Viking fans, but he wasn’t about to argue with the delusions of an enormous ego. “I’ll introduce you to some of my _friends_.”

Hiccup smiled mutely. He decided that he would never understand the Princess’s suitors and so wouldn’t even try. It was best to just nod and let them have their way. “Sure, Lord Macintosh.”

“Call me Osgar. Niall!” Osgar glared at the young Dingwall heir. His ballad taken on the rousing tones of a march and his voice screeched through the woods. “Would you keep it down! I can’t hear myself think!”

_The boar! The boar!_

_Drunk his fill!_

_Down yonder glade!_

“We know about the boar,” Alan rolled his eyes. “No need to get excited.”

Hiccup stopped short as he caught sight of the watering hole, heart hammering in his throat. He couldn’t believe it. He just couldn’t.

“What is it?” Merida caught sight of his expression and stepped closer.

He just had a moment to think, _Oh now you’re talking to me,_ before a sharp squeal filled the air followed by the unmistakable snorting of a wild boar.

“Get down!”

Hiccup dropped to the floor, eyes wide. Osgar shuffled closer followed by Alan. Blessedly, everyone had also gone quiet.

“That’s a big beastie,” Alan whistled. “Biggest I’ve seen yet.”

“It’s a miracle it hasn’t heard us.”

Hiccup had to agree with Merida. Between Niall’s singing and Osgar’s yelling, the boar had to be either deaf or stupid. Or maybe it just didn’t care.

“We’re downwind of it,” Osgar muttered. “You’re either the best hand at tracking, Viking, or you’ve the luck of the devil.”

“Luck?” Hiccup hissed back. “Just to remind you all, do any of us have weapons to kill a boar?”

The suitors stared blankly at Hiccup. Osgar and Alan had swords strapped to their waist and knives at their boots. Niall didn’t have anything as far as Hiccup could see. Hiccup had his dagger but had left his gronckle metal shield in the stable with Blueberry. Only Merida, with her bow and arrows, looked unaffected as she stared speculatively at the boar.

“We thought you were only hunting birds, mate,” Osgar had the grace to look abashed. “We weren’t really planning on helping that much.”

“The Princess told us not to interfere,” Alan muttered. “It’s your hunt and all.”

“Oh very nice! Now there’s a boar half the size of a gronkcle and five of us without a decent weapon.”

“Four,” Merida’s lips twitched.

“Don’t you start,” Hiccup rounded on her. “Your arrows are only gonna irritate it off before it gores us.”

“I’d kill it before it gets to the Princess,” Niall said at once. His light blue eyes shone with a cold intensity and his fingers tightened into fists. “I’ll kill it before it even tries.”

“How? Are you gonna sing it to death?”

“Stay out of it, Viking.” Niall stood up and carefully stowed his lyre behind a tree.

“Now you’ve done it,” Alan smacked his hand against his forehead.

Dingwall squared his shoulders and from the depths of his kilt withdrew the longest knife Hiccup had ever seen. “For the Princess! Grahh!”

Hiccup’s gawked at the boy’s charging back. The boar looked equally surprised. It’s jaw hung slack mid chew.

Alan surged to his feet, “Come back, you fool! That knife’s not gonna do anything.”

“No, let him," Osgar grinned, rising as well.

"He'll get hurt."

“Yes, but it'll be funny."

Just before the Niall reached the boar, Merida’s arrows found their mark. Two hit its shoulder with a meaty thunk and the third hit its neck. The beast screamed in rage and tossed its head. Niall barely dodged its tusks. His knife flashed once and scored a long cut that made the boar squeal in rage.

“Up the tree, Niall! I’ll cover you!”

“But—“

“I said now! Everyone, up a tree now!"

The young lords reacted with astonishing speed. Niall swung himself up a low hanging branch. Osgar and Alan darted away at once. Hiccup was halfway to the nearest tree when he realized Merida was still firing at the boar even though the young lords were already scurrying up.

"Are you nuts?" He gasped, turning back. Merida ignored him, drawing back the bow and releasing it with implacable focus. She reached for another arrow but Hiccup took her by the arm and dragged her away. "We need to get away right now!"

They had just reached the base of a tree when Merida took his hand and pulled him away. "This way!"

“What are you doing?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Is it still following us?” Merida called out ahead of him.

Behind Hiccup, he could hear the furious boar crashing through the undergrowth. He sped up. “What do you think?” he snapped back, breathless. They had been running for at least ten minutes and he was grateful that he’d spent so much time with Toothless. Twelve-year-old Hiccup could not have kept up with the princess’s sprint but a Hiccup who did nothing but ride Toothless for the better part of six years could cope. Still, they could not run forever. If they didn’t come up with something soon, they were going to get gored.

“Och, this is not how I wanted to do this,” she said, before shouting, “Come on. Follow me!” The red curls ahead of him veered sharply to the left. As if he had any other choice but to follow. The young Viking swore as his prosthetic limb caught on some foliage and he wrenched it free as quickly as he could. She didn’t wait up. The trees were starting to thin as the ground sloped upward. Hiccup hoped that meant they were near some settlement. Ahead of him, the princess slowed. She took out an arrow from her quiver, attached it quickly to a rope and let it fly. The arrow embedded itself on the trunk of a tree nearly to the top of a steep ridge. The princess tied the end of the rope to a nearby tree and began using the rope to negotiate the steep slope.

He allowed himself to feel a trickle of admiration for the girl’s quick thinking before the boar bellowed behind him. Hiccup ducked just in time as debris from the boar’s crashing through the undergrowth sailed overhead. Without missing a beat, he followed her example. The boar’s enraged bellowing grew fainter and fainter the higher he got. The ground was soft and his prosthetic limb caught more than once. But the thought of the boar’s sharp tusks only spurred him faster. Then her hand was there helping him negotiate the last steep climb.

The Viking flopped over the damp grass and soft earth. His limbs burned from their exertion and his lungs took in great gasps of air. A constant, cool breeze blew over his face.

“You all right?” she asked, leaning over him.

Hiccup opened his eyes and stared at her in a daze. _She can be really pretty_ , a distant part of Hiccup’s mind noted, ignoring the roaring in his ears at the closeness of her. Even though her hair was windswept, sweat trickled down her brows and her clothes were dirty from their sprint. But her eyes were bright and the ghost of a smile loomed behind her lips like the moon hiding behind clouds. “You’re enjoying this,” he said, wonder and accusation in his tone.

She stiffened before walking away. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, crossing her arms and looking down the slope.

He sat up, gazing at the princess. That was a lie if ever Hiccup heard one. For the millionth time, the Viking wondered at the strange puzzle the princess of the Highlands presented. That strange feeling surged in his chest—dual impulses vying for control. Natural curiosity urged him to find out more, to question, to learn. The sensible part of his mind warned that she burned too bright; she’d blind him if he came too near.

“Uhh, Hiccup, you might want to see this.”

“Oh you’ve _got_ to be joking. ” He’d been so distracted by Merida that he hadn’t even realized—the roar of the beast.   The Viking scrambled to stand beside the girl. The boar was rapidly making its way up the slope. Its hooves sunk deep into the soft earth and it gnashed its teeth at them. It would reach them in a few minutes. He whipped around, looking for another place to hide but there was none.

She’d lead them to an cliffside. The trees in reach were far too slender to support either of them much less withstand the boar’s tusks. The small clearing sloped sharply downwards to the boar; the other side dropped abruptly into nothing. A roaring river bordered one side that fell away into a waterfall—the biggest he’d seen yet in the Highlands.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he walked closer to the river. “We can’t swim. We’ll drown!”

“It was your bright idea to lead us here. You think of something then!”

“Bright idea? You’re the one who decided to hunt on your own without a weapon but for that silly dagger! We wouldn’t be here if you had something that could actually kill a boar!”

“I wouldn’t need a weapon for a boar if you hadn’t been following me!”

“I _accompanied_ you because you needed protection!”

“Oh _swell_ job!”

The boar bellowed. They whipped around to face it. Its nose was peeking over the edge, but it seemed to have difficulty making it up the last few feet. It surged up once, its short legs scrabbling for purchase on level ground before it disappeared over the edge again. Hiccup’s heart leapt into his throat and he backed away hastily. _Think, Haddock, think_ , he urged himself. _Boar on one side, cliff on the other, drowning on the other side_. _What would Toothless do if he couldn’t fight, couldn’t swim, couldn’t… jump?_

He strode towards the edge of the waterfall. The water thundered past him and dropped a distance of about 25 meters into a large loch. He couldn’t see any rocks below, but the mist could be hiding any number of things. He’d fallen further… but then again, he’d also been much higher up in the sky and accompanied by the fastest dragon known to Vikings.

“You’re mad,” Merida whispered.

Hiccup turned to her. She was watching him with wide eyes.

“We need to jump.”

“No, we’re going to fall. Hard.”

“I know it’s crazy,” he said, throwing up his hands. “But it’s either that or a really big, really angry boar. Which do you think you’ll—” He stopped short when she placed a finger on his lips. She grinned up at him, fear and amusement in her smile.

“You talk too much, you daft Viking.” She rearranged her bow so it hung loosely around her back and stepped right onto the edge with him. “Let’s do it.”

“Really?” he asked, blinking. “You’ll… you trust me?”

“It’s not like I’ve much of a choice,” the Princess rolled her eyes. “If I die and you survive, I’ll be haunting you for the rest of your life.”

“Deal. Just… take a deep breath, jump right from the edge, fall in feet first and keep your arms close to your side. Swim as fast as you can once you hit the water.”

“Done this before, have you?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She raised a brow.

“There was a thing with a dragon and Gobber’s underpants and…” He shut up when she slipped her fingers through his. They were just as cold and clammy as he felt, but her grin was fierce.

“I bet I can swim out of that water faster than you.”

“Are you really going to turn this into a competition?”

“I can’t show you up after we’ve been gored or drowned, can I?” She took a few steps backs and readied herself.

He watched her go, amazement and fear now running through him like a fever.

“Well?” she asked, brow lifting imperiously.

“I am going to make you eat your words,” he warned, taking his place beside her. Behind them, the boar bellowed as it finally heaved itself up. Together, the two of them sprinted forward and jumped over the edge.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where to next?”

“Why are you asking me?” Hiccup asked, irritated. His clothes were soaking wet, and he was pretty sure he’d lost a spring in his metal leg by the way it squeaked and groaned with every step. At least neither of them had lost any limbs or broken any bones. The Viking brushed sodden locks away from his forehead and took stock of their surroundings. He didn’t recognize the trees and the river around them, but then again he wasn’t familiar with the woodlands around the castle of DunBroch at all.    

Merida had laid her things aside to dry—what little she retained during their swim. She’d kept her bow—now unstrung—, her quiver with no arrows, and her cloak. Hiccup had only his dagger.

If the princess was offended by his tone, she ignored it. Currently, the princess was wringing her dress dry and the Viking was most definitely NOT staring at the way the fabric of her dress clung to her body. Nope, he was a smart lad and wasn’t as crude as Snotlout say, or even Tuffnut. He was so busy NOT staring that he almost missed Merida’s response.

“Because you weren’t hunting for rabbits or pheasants, were you?”

Hiccup’s eyes snapped to her face.

“It was a good act,” Merida said calmly as if she hadn’t just called out his deceit, “For a while, I thought you really _were_ just an idiot following imaginary tracks in the forest. Then I noticed where exactly you _weren’t_ leading us.” She gathered her hair to one side, baring a long, slender neck. A trickle of water dribbled from her dark, red curls and splashed down a bare shoulder.

“That’s ridiculous.” He couldn’t tell if his words came out thickly because he was unnerved, or angry or distracted or some dizzying combination of all three.

“You saw something last night,” she continued, sky blue eyes peeking out at him while she combed her hair to some semblance of order. “All that time in the woods, you were just leading us in circles—farther and farther away from that strange clearing. I’m sorry about the boys. I should have known they’d follow me but…” The Princess shook her head and her hair rippled around her like a cloak. “Now’s your chance. It’ll take them a while to find us.”

“Did you just take advantage of a boar attack to get us away from the young lords?” he gawked.

“Impressed?” Merida asked archly. “Now it’s your turn. Go on then. Impress me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Struggling to hide her grin as she walked uphill, she asked again, “You sure a timberjack made that clearing?”

“The first time we met, Kincaid mentioned he and the king fought a dragon that sounded an awful lot like a timberjack. Now, the debris in the clearing doesn’t exactly match a timberjack’s trail, but I do know a dragon is in the area. Nothing can split trees like dragon spikes.”

The gleam in his eye had all the enthusiasm of a little boy. Merida realized that she’d never quite seen him without his perpetual wariness and was surprised at the difference it made. Confidence straightened his spine and his gaze met hers directly whereas before he’d have hunched into himself and glanced at her from the side. It was so much more like the boy she’d rescued by the castle gate and she wondered fleetingly what it would have been like if he’d never known she was a princess.

Hiccup paused, voice a curious mixture of apprehension and warning, “You sure you still want to come with me? It might be more dangerous than what you’re used to.”

“More dangerous than a wild, angry boar that could gore you with one flick of its tusk and grind you to a pulp with its hooves?” Merida let her grin show and it was all teeth. “I’m counting on it.”

His smile made his eyes crinkle and the gap in his teeth show. Merida blinked. She expected bluster or protestations. The young lords would have insisted she go back while they hunt for the dragon themselves. Her father would tie her up and drag her back to the castle by the hair if he had to. Andres… What would Andres think? Merida paused, remembering his smoke gray eyes and his calm, measuring voice. He wouldn’t believe Hiccup.

“My dad never mentioned that he fought a dragon.” Merida inspected moss on a tree trunk to check for direction again. They were deep in the woods now, as far from the baying hounds and hunting horns of the Royal Party as she could manage, and the sunlight was a faint golden glow overhead.

“Your dad only came at the end when the timberjack took off. It does that when it gets cornered.” Hiccup hauled himself underneath a low hanging branch and continued after her.

That was likely enough. Fergus didn’t care for battles that weren’t his own and Kincaid was far more circumspect than her father. Kincaid once described the final battle of the Viking Raids in the following sentences, _There were longships. I was freezing my arse off. It was a relief when the Vikings finally attacked._

"Tell me more about timberjacks."

She couldn't have asked him a better question. Hiccup rolled up the sleeves of his green shirt as he spoke, exposing forearms corded with muscle and marred by faint scars. Some, she realized, were burn marks from his time as village blacksmith; others reminded her strongly of teeth. Yet his voice held nothing but enthusiasm as he described the particular dragon breed, its strengths and weaknesses, and its firepower. He reminded her more of the kennel master speaking of his hounds than he did of Fergus’s war band speaking of their enemies.

“Timberjacks are mostly harmless if you leave it by itself. I like to take students to scour the forest islands near the Waterlands collecting—”

“Enough firewood to last the winter, I expect.”

“We’re not that lucky,” he scoffed. “We have nine months of snow.”

“I thought you Vikings ran hot-blooded. Surely you only need a wee fire to cook your food.”

“Tell me that again after you spend a day in Berk.”

“Is that an invitation?” Their eyes met and held. She felt the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of her lips. “Or a challenge?”

“You’d go to a rock at the meridian of misery and a few degrees south of freezing to death just to prove a point?”

Merida’s smile blossomed into a smirk. Ever since her fostering, she’d been treated with nothing less than utmost politeness by the Clans. Every conversation was a well-rehearsed dance; every interaction a predictable ritual with few variations. Hiccup’s lightning-swift comebacks were as invigorating as a dead-gallop on Angus. He’d never smother her with painted smiles and flowery praises. “Absolutely.”

“There’s a word for people like you in Norse.”

“Winners?”

“I see that self-delusion is a common trait among Highland nobles.”

“As is losing to Vikings.”

“Now I understand why our people never got along.”

“I’m glad. You started it, after all.”

“Truce!” he laughed. “For now.”

She couldn’t remember the last time any of her suitors lost with anything that resembled grace. There was no stiffness or resentment in Hiccup’s face—only ruefulness, exasperation and a trace of admiration.

They reached the clearing in short time. The woods were as silent as ever, a stillness that felt too much like hungry watchfulness. It reminded her of the feeling she had hunting the stolen sheep in the Dark Woods. Merida imagined an island landscape dotted with such woods and shivered. Vikings truly were a hardy people if they could thrive in such a haunted environment.

Hiccup kicked at a fallen piece of wood. The bottom was smooth, as though chopped with an axe, but Merida had never seen an axe so sharp. He felt the bark along the cut and brought his fingers up to his nose.

Merida hit the nearby tree with the palm of her hand. Kindling fell like rainfall on him, making his splutter. Suddenly, his stories of timberjacks with razor sharp wings seemed a little more real. "How are you going to deal with the dragon?"

“Deal with it?” Hiccup glared at her as he brushed the debris off his head and shoulders. "I’m not going to kill it if that’s what you mean.”

“I’m sure the Court would be very impressed.” Her voice was bland as she crossed her arms. Mostly. If she had been dealing with Osgar, Alan or Niall, she knew without doubt that it was the only reason any of them would hunt a dangerous beast without help.

“We covered this already. Not interested.” His metal leg squeaked as he pivoted on his heel and pointed southwest. She wondered vaguely if it’d break soon but dismissed the thought. That was his business. "It's that way."

Merida frowned at his back as he negotiated the woods, heading deeper into the wildlands near the Callanish Stones. Everybody was interested in impressing the Court, the Vikings no less than any other clan lord. Anyone who said otherwise was either a fool or a liar. Hiccup could be foolish but Merida could already tell the young Viking wasn’t a fool. The gleam in his eye was too sharp to mistake for anything other than a keen intellect. But was he a liar? Merida couldn’t decide. Instinct told her he had been honest at the Queen’s Tooth and that he was also being honest now. Honest but not entirely forthcoming. Merida pursed her lips. “What are you going to do with it then?”

“Get it away from here.” Hiccup tilted his face upwards to spot a tree with its very tip chopped off or a pile of kindling coating the uppermost branches like some bizarre snowfall.

“You’re a very strange dragon conqueror, aren’t you?”

“We’re a matching set then. A strange dragon conqueror and a peculiar princess.”

The retort had been expected, but the insight hadn’t been. She pondered the words as they crossed a small stream. It was true. Both prominent members of their own court and yet so contrary to their own titles. Merida had been so used to being the sole oddity in her own home, the one piece that didn’t quite fit in her mother’s grand schemes, that she hadn’t even realized that, in an odd way, she and Hiccup were alike. She wondered if the Chief had as much trouble with Hiccup the way her mother did with her.

The revelation startled her and Merida wasn’t sure how to feel about it. So, as with all things that made her feel unsure or uncomfortable, she ignored it. She noticed Hiccup glance at her face every so often, but she ignored that too.

“The students you mentioned. What do you teach them? How many are there?” Her breath was visible in the dim lighting of the forest now. Goosebumps prickled along her arms.

“Are you always this curious about other people?”

“A Princess never stops learning.”

More silence from Hiccup. When Merida glanced at his back, his shoulders were hunched again—wary as if expecting a blow. Curious. He was more comfortable talking about dragons than his own people.

“I remember asking my mum to put me in Dragon Academy when I was a wee lass.”

“How’d you—”

“I don’t remember. I only remember that I wanted to be a hero and figured that learning how to kill dragons would come handy one day.”

The metal in Hiccup’s prosthetic limb gave a sharp squeak as he jumped down from a short ledge. He paused only long enough for Merida to land lightly beside him before he resumed walking. His response, when it came, was so low she nearly missed it. “That’s not all we teach.”

“Beg pardon?”

Hiccup’s reply was brief. Courses included a thorough introduction to the most common breeds of dragons on Berk; the various methods to subdue or drive said dragons off; and multiple ways to hide if the dragon was too wily (often) or too big (rarely, but that also meant you were likely to die).

“It must be easier to kill a dragon when you know its weaknesses.”

“Much easier to drive a dragon away without trying to kill it. That’s my advice to anyone facing a dragon: don’t kill it.”

“That must have gone over like a sack of week-old fish. Didn’t they want to learn how to kill a dragon from the famous dragon conqueror?”

“There are plenty of dragon-killers among us. I taught them what they needed to survive. It’s the best thing you can teach anyone—no matter how unconventional.”

On that score, Merida had to agree. She remembered the countless lessons her father had given her on how to fight, how to pick a weapon for her slight frame, how to use her size and speed against larger opponents. But it was Linus who taught her how to survive—how to navigate by stars or trees, how to track game or catch fish, which plants were good for eating or medicine. Her father taught her how to win; Linus taught her how to survive.

Hiccup’s prosthetic limb gave a sharp screech as he stepped through a patch of snow that camouflaged a sharp descent. He staggered, but kept his balance. “With all those arrows, you couldn’t have shot the boar somewhere that might have slowed it down?”

So he had noticed. Merida wondered if any of the young lords had for they knew her marksmanship better than Hiccup. She flashed him a small smile, “Like its eyes or its knees, perhaps?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re that good?”

“Unlike some people, I live up to my reputation.”

"That's not the only bit of your reputation you live up to."

"I especially live up to the sordid bits."

His laugh burst out of him like birds startled into flight. "You really are enjoying this, aren't you?"

"So are you. Don't lie."

He blinked, jaw opening, then closing. “Okay, “ he said, lips slowly curling into a grin. “Might have been nice to know we weren’t in any danger while we running from the boar.”

“Of course we were,” she snorted. "I could have blinded it if I had to, but I wasn’t going to put out its eyes and sentence it to death just to make it easy for us to escape. I’m not a killer, either.”

This time Hiccup didn’t just glance; he stared—his funny little stare that made her think he was looking at a scroll written in a different language. But there was a minute lifting of his brow or maybe a lightening of his eye that made her think, somehow, he had just figured out an important piece. Then he abruptly fell flat on his ass.

“Hiccup!” she gasped as he slid a few feet a snow-covered incline. A bubble of laughter escaped her as she negotiated the slick surface. “You okay?”

“How are you _doing_ that?” Hiccup grumped, sitting up. He brushed the snow gently from the back of his head and winced. “I know I have a peg leg but you’re keeping your balance on a steep hill _on top of the ice_!”

She snickered, “Come on. You’re not going to conquer any dragons sitting here.”

“Where are we anyway?” The Viking staggered upright, trying and failing to discretely bat the snow from the seat of his pants.

“The Frozen Loch or near enough to it.” The Princess looked away to give him the illusion of privacy. The trees in front of them stood barren and black against unseasonable snow in the ground. Water hissed softly in the air. Goosebumps prickled along the back of Merida’s neck and arms but not from the cold. Awareness shot through her, halfway between sound and thought like the ghostly call of wisp.   Merida knew with certainty where they were heading. “I think I know where your dragon is. Follow me.”

A click and a sharp crunch drew her attention back to Hiccup. He had fiddled with his curious metal leg and had stabbed it deep into the ice. When he lifted it to take another step, she realized that the leg now ended in a sharp point like an ice pick.

“Ice shoe.”

“You made that yourself?”

“Peg leg and ice don’t really go together. I had to compensate or spend the rest of winter falling down.” Hiccup’s progress was ungainly but quick. Merida slowed her pace, but it wasn’t kindness she told herself. She just couldn’t keep her gaze from drifting to his metal leg. “Where are we going?”

“It’s coming up in a minute.” Through a gap in the trees, Merida could make out ruined stone arches rising like broken teeth in the fog. Inscribed on the top was the crossed axe sigil. “Why is it always this spot?”

Hiccup gave her a startled glance before his eyes flicked at the ruins before them. “What is this place?”

“Mor’Du’s lair.” She picked her way through the stone ruins and up the top of the hill. He cursed behind her as his feet crunched through the ice then went straight through rotting wood beneath. “Step where I step.”

“Now you tell me.” He glared at her as he balanced precariously on his hands and one knee. He shuffled out of the hole and switched his metal leg back to the one she’d been most familiar with.

“Don’t whine,” she smirked before pointing to a dark, gaping hole ahead of them. “Once I fell straight there. Consider yourself lucky only your foot slipped through.”

“You’ve been here before?” His stare took in not just the crumbling ruins and the opening, but also the vista ahead. Bone-white, steep mountains encircled a deep blue, almost black loch that shone mirror-smooth but for the jagged cracks running across its surface. A curtain of fog obscured the far side.

“Once.” The princess peered into the opening. She was certain the drop to the nearest ledge was manageable, but the dying afternoon sunlight cast everything in deep shadows. “This seems about right.”

“Seems?” The Viking peered doubtfully into the hole. “I can still track the timberjack to the loch.”

“And climb down an icy mountainside without rope or axe?”

“I’m not sure how to break it to you, Princess, but unless Mor’Du liked giant bear caves, I can guarantee the timberjack isn’t hiding in there.”

“I’m not sure how to break it to you, Viking, but we’re not standing on top of a giant bear cave. We’re standing atop a buried castle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have mentioned before but HEARING DRAGONS, THE HUNT, and the following BEAUTY AND DEATH all take place during Hiccup's second visit to the Highlands. It was originally a 100-page chapter, whittled down to 60 and then separated into three 20ish page chapters for easier consumption.


	19. Beauty and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hiccup and Merida confront a dragon from a bygone age in the ruins of a demon bear's palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on CROSSING THE HORIZON: During the hunt, Merida uses a run-in with a wild boar to separate herself and Hiccup from the young lords. Alone, she confronts him as to what he encountered in the woods on their way up to the castle. Hiccup admits that he thinks a dragon lives in the Highlands. Together, the two track the dragon to Mor'Du’s lair.

As Hiccup descended, a cool, wet darkness swallowed him whole. Unbidden, stories of the legendary dragons of the deeps devouring entire armies of Vikings crowded inside his mind.

The princess voluntarily came to the buried castle of a demon bear on the shores of a perpetually frozen loch. The gods had given the Princess of DunBroch madness and bravery. Hiccup was having a hard time telling one from the other.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he felt tiny tremors in the broken flagstones. He took a cautious step forward, and the ancient stones shifted and cracked against one another.

“Mum used to tell me stories of heroes being trapped in a stone giant’s stomach.” Merida’s disembodied voice echoed eerily in the barely illuminated space and made him flinch. She’d gone ahead of him to scout out the place despite his misgivings.

“That’s not creepy at all. Do remember even more disturbing stories to share in the dark.” The shadows were resolving itself into outlines, patterns and shades of gray. He spotted Merida’s slender form weaving gracefully among the rubble towards the far wall in front of some massive chairs.

“We’re heading to a dragon’s lair and you’re worried about stone giants? Get some perspective.”

“My perspective includes tiny but significant details that might come back and eat us later on.” The chairs, Hiccup realized as he shuffled closer, were not chairs at all. They were enormous thrones on a raised platform. Squinting, Hiccup took a careful survey of the space around him. “Do demon bears normally have castles? Are stone giants part of their burglar alarm system?”

“You’ve been listening to Wee Dingwall.”

“I can’t help overhearing Lord Dingwall.”

“Don’t mind him. Once he gets a song into his head, he becomes obsessed with it for months at a time. This year it’s the Lament of Genovefa.”

“That’s not the only thing he’s obsessed with,” Hiccup muttered. The Viking made out overturned and broken remains of tables, broken pillars, ripped tapestries and—a pile of skeletons. “Merida? Are those skeletons in the corner?”

“Careful.” Her whisper came so close that Hiccup took an involuntary step back into the shattered pieces of a broken frieze. Merida’s hand shot out to steady him. “There are bones everywhere.”

“Whose? What happened here?”

“A disagreement between brothers,” she sighed and pointed to the frieze. “The princes came to end the feud that tore their family apart. The eldest ended them instead. The kingdom fell and the Crown Prince was cursed to walk forever as a demon bear with an insatiable hunger for death.”

“Mor’Du?” he whispered, face ashen.

“Mum always told me the worst monsters in our kingdom are men.”

 

* * *

 

 

The staircase beyond the broken entrance of the throne room should have been spacious and grand. Toothless and Stormfly could easily have walked down its smooth, stone-steps side-by-side with room to spare. Then he and the Princess began passing the barricades. It was cobbled from whatever materials had been near at hand—broken stone pillars, doors torn from hinges and, once, a wardrobe with its contents spilling rotting on to the ground. Each barrier was smashed and behind each barrier crouched skeletal figures. Many had their rib cages crushed; others missed limbs or skulls. Rusted weapons and dented shields littered the steps like discarded notes in Hiccup’s study.

The Princess paused to inspect arrows from a rotting quiver before placing it carefully into her own hip quiver. Her gaze lingered on the man who’d died, jawbone hanging askew. “They must have tried to fight Mor’Du.”

“I think they were trying to buy time for their families to escape.” Shadows seemed to jump and shift from light cast from Hiccup’s makeshift torch. The shadows made deep hollows in the fallen archer’s eye sockets and jaw. It seemed to him that the man still screamed hundreds of years later. He’d died screaming. They all died screaming.

She looked at him a long moment and nodded. Without a word, their steps quickened and each tried not to stare at the sight of so much carnage around them.

The stairs twisted deeper and deeper. Merida hadn’t been entirely accurate in her description. She’d said the ruins marked the tops of the castle, but it wasn’t a castle so much as it was a palace. When they exited the spire and emerged into a gallery, Hiccup’s torchlight couldn’t reach the ceiling or the far end of the great hall. Their steps echoed faint as a mouse’s skittering in the darkness. They followed the central corridor lined by two columns of massive pillars. Each was as tall as the unfinished statues before Berk’s Meade Hall yet slender with delicate vines carved throughout the column.

He wished Toothless was there. The dragon could easily have lit the entire palace up with a single plasma blast and then they would see if Mor’Du’s people had truly built on the scale of giants.

“Ash.” At Hiccup’s quirked brow, the Princess wrapped her knuckle against a nearby column. “It looks like the bark of an ash tree—a sacred tree.”

He couldn’t imagine the hours of work that must have gone into such a project. As Hiccup’s torch pierced the gloom, he could see that every surface in the gallery was carved in intricate patterns or painted with still-vibrant colors. He recognized some from similar decorations in Castle DunBroch but others—such as the fresco of lions, bears, wolves and stags—were so finely wrought Hiccup doubted its like existed anywhere else in the Highlands.

“I thought Dingwall’s songs were wild exaggerations,” Hiccup mumbled, spinning slowly in his walk to take in the startling beauty around.

Merida didn’t respond. He turned to see her staring at something on the ground. Almost directly in their path lay a skeleton surrounded by miniature skeletons. Here and there, he could make out other skeletal remains—no longer facing the stairs that lead to the throne room, but away. Fleeing. Dozens of them.

“Wee bairns,” the Princess whispered. “No older than my brothers.”

“Hey.” He tugged at the purple linen of her sleeve until she turned to face him directly. Her blue eyes looked huge in the darkness. “How do you know where we’re going?”

Merida blinked once. Twice. Then, “It’s hard enough to get a supply wagon to DunBroch. The mountains are all but impassable here so they’d need a reliable way to move men and goods. That leaves only one solution—the loch. So we go down.”

“There’s an awful lot of down to choose from.”

“We follow the dead. They must have known that the loch was the only escape.”

 

* * *

 

 

The cold gave it away just as much as the dead. As they followed the trail of bones, their breath began to steam in the air in front of them. Goosebumps prickled Hiccup’s exposed skin. Beside him, the princess twitched her cloak shut, but otherwise made no complaint.

A faint niggle of admiration rose, reluctant but recognizable. The weather was more like an autumn day in Berk than it was like a summer day in the Highlands. But she’d not crowded closer to the torch in his right hand, though it was the only source of heat. And… he narrowed his eyes in thought. She didn’t seem to need the illumination either. The princess had neither tripped nor fumbled in the forest while being chased by a boar or in this elaborate tomb.

Their path took them long minutes through the great gallery before it took a sharp right to an elaborately carved portal with its doors thrown wide open. Inside, a large hallway sloped downwards. Serpentine shapes traversed its arches, before Hiccup realized, as he drew closer with his torchlight, that it wasn’t serpentine at all. The arches formed a delicate framework of tree-roots that supported the ceiling.

In the closer confines of the hallway, he could better examine the artistry of the Mor’Du’s people. The flickering light from the makeshift torch illuminated scene after scene of battles, marriages, hunts and coronations on the cracked and crumbling walls. Fantastic beasts and beautiful gardens also appeared among the paintings. Merida named them as they passed: unicorn, _boobrie_ , griffin, _Cu Sith_ , and troll.

“Troll,” he did a double take at the large, grotesque figure ripping a horse’s head off. “I used to hunt for trolls when I was little.”

“So did I.” Her lips quirked up. “Mum would try to give me lessons and I’d—”

“—Run off looking for trolls instead. It was self-defense against my dad who was trying to teach me how to fish.”

Their eyes met and he wondered how true the King and Queen’s stories of their childhood friendship had been. It had seemed impossible at first; he couldn’t imagine someone so haughty being a friend. And yet…

His prosthesis slid along an icy patch with a sharp screech. He’d have fallen flat on his rear if it hadn’t been for Merida ducking underneath his arm to prop him up.

“Oomf,” she grunted as he regained his footing. “You’re heavier than you look. Got into the venison, did you?”

“Hahah, yes, make fun of the one-legged guy. Classy.” He stumbled away from her and leaned against the wall for support. “Is that something princesses do?”

“Aim for the chink in the armor?” she snorted. “What do you think an archer ought to hit?”

He drew a breath to retort when he realized what his hand was partially obscuring. Hiccup dropped his hand and read the inscription: _So Began the Great Northern Alliance…_

Straightening, the Viking carefully backed away from the large mural dominating the wall. A man with a four-pronged crown and a large figure with a horned helm clasped hands. Behind the king, four figures with smaller crowns knelt and behind them, an entire army with their weapons discarded on the ground. Upon the water and behind the figure with the horned helm was a fleet of longships with dragon-prows flying flags of peace. The symbol on the longships looked so familiar, yet Hiccup was sure it was no tribe crest he’d seen before. A great castle perched on the cliff overhead.

Two lines of inscription ran beneath the painting. The first he couldn’t read, but the second was written, unmistakably, in _runes_. The style was older, formalized certainly, almost no one in Berk wrote like that (if they wrote at all), but it was unmistakable. This was the language of Vikings. So the two people in the paintings must be…

“What does that say?” He pointed to the first line of inscription—the one he couldn’t read.

“Um,” she frowned. “Something about a treaty in the north or—I can’t be sure. The script is archaic.”

“A treaty or an alliance?” He took out his notebook and began sketching the mural and the accompanying inscription.

“It could be read _The Great Alliance of the North Begins_.”

“That’s what the Viking runes say. Basically.”

“Viking runes?” Startled, her eyes flicked back to the words then lingered on the figure of the man with the horned helm. Recognition and intrigue made her lips part in wonder, but she quickly smoothed her expression when she noticed his attention. “Back in the day, the clans nearly revolted when my mum named your mum a guest of the realm and gave her the freedom of the kingdom. I’ve never heard of any formal agreement between a Highland clan and a Viking tribe.”

“Why would Mor’Du’s people write the same title in runes then?”

“Why would Highlanders and Vikings work together?”

It was a good question. The enmity his people bore for the Highlanders was only eclipsed by their loathing of dragons. Skalds could easily sing half a hundred songs of their feud but an alliance? He couldn’t even remember hearing a whisper of such a thing.

“These halls are full of legends from our ancient past. See that cauldron there?” She pointed to a painting half obscured underneath a thin sheet of ice. An army of ant-sized men defended a castle from invaders. In the courtyard of the castle stood a large cauldron. “The MacGuffins say that the only reason they lasted through the siege was because the cauldron fed hundreds of their warriors long after their supplies ran out.”

Still, the thought of an alliance tugged at his mind—persistent and undeniable despite the rigors of the passage.

Any doubt as to the princess’s theory of Mor’Du’s palace having a path down to the loch vanished under the steadily encroaching ice. It crept onto the walls, half obscured paintings, and formed an uneven dome overhead. It was almost, Hiccup thought as they skirted a glittering spray of ice in the center, as if the passage had flooded then frozen as the waters receded.

They passed through several alcoves that were completely filled with ice. His torchlight picked out only vague details from the paintings now—a loch, a castle, a sword.

“We have magical arms instead of cauldrons,” Hiccup said to distract himself from the human-like shapes he could see crouched in one alcove. He dared not bring the torchlight closer to see. “When I was little, my father would tell me stories about Endeavor—the hammer that forged Grimbeard’s kingdom.”

“Let me guess. The hammer could fling half a dozen men twenty paces into the air with one swing.” The princess lunged forward and swung an imaginary hammer in the air in such a way that let Hiccup know at once she’d never held a hammer in her life. “Pummel a wall into rubble?” She scowled at the grin on his face, “What?”

“The Bashem-Oiks, the last tribe to resist Grimbeard’s rule, lived on an island full of stinking bogs and murky marshes.” It took a bit of effort to keep the smile from his face. Biting his lip, he tried to remember the details of this particular bedtime story. “Grimbeard kept losing his men trying to find the Bashem-Oiks who knew how to hide in their home. Finally, he grew so wrathful that he ordered his men back into the boats while he alone remained on the shore. Three times he called the Bashem-Oiks to face them in true combat or die like cowards; three times they refused. So he took Endeavor and smashed it on the beach. They said it was as if Thor struck the island himself. The Sullen Sea rose, the earth shook , and after three hours, there wasn’t an island anymore. All that was left was a hundred half-drowned keys separated by the most treacherous waters in the Barbaric Archipelago.”

Merida stared. “All right. That is…a slightly more impressive story than the one with the magical cauldron.”

“Even now most Vikings avoid the Mazy Multitudes.” Of course, most Vikings were more concerned about the Outcasts living in the Mazy Multitudes than anything else. In some cases, Vikings showed remarkable good sense.

“You believe the story?”

“Hey, I’m not the one with a demon bear roaming around my backyard.”

“Legends are lessons,” she half-huffed, half-laughed. “They ring with truths. They are very rarely _completely_ true _._ ”

“Gobber used to tell me something like that.” His lips quirked up in a self-deprecating grin. “He said that all these stories about Endeavor and Stormblade—which was his flashiest weapon, by the way—was just a simplification of the truth: he was the best battle-chief the Barbaric Archipelago’s ever seen. He never lost an opportunity to use the winds and the tides against his enemies.”

“That I do believe.”

He jerked to a halt as he spotted the fresco over her shoulder. It depicted a large, cloud-white dragon, chained and bound to a circle of pillars against a field of vivid sky-blue. Ancient runes that burned with a scarlet fire marked the megaliths. The king, the same crowned figure from the alliance painting, placed a collar of gold on the dragon’s neck. A golden moon hung overhead. “What legend is that?”

“No idea. I can tell you that collar appears on Clan Campbell’s banners. That blue field is common among the clans in the Isle of Skye. The Hunter’s Moon is sacred to the Clan Stewart. We could spend all day matching house sigils to the castles, lions and swords in these paintings”

“And dragons are common symbols of Viking clans.” His notebook was fast going to run out of pages if Mor’Du’s castle had more paintings like this. His eyes flicked from the fresco and back to his sketch, careful not to miss any detail. At her furrowed brow, he gave her a lopsided smile. “You said it yourself, Princess. Anything can happen.”

 

* * *

 

 

Something niggled in the back of Merida’s mind and it had been growing ever since they’d stepped into the icy passage. She licked her lips, trying not to tremble at the cold, and glanced at the darkness ahead. No movement. No sound.

“If the scale is true, it’s not a titan-class dragon. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The body structure is similar to a timberjack, but I’ll bet you anything it’s a sea-dweller from the shape of the fins.” Hiccup seemed not to mind the temperature. He had naught but his trousers and linen shirt, but he moved as easily as if it were a brisk summer day. “How old did you say this place was?”

“Hundreds of years old.”

“I suppose the dragon breed could have died out long before.” Hiccup chewed a fingernail as he gazed at his sketch. “That’s a shame. I would like to have seen it up close.”

“Pity,” she murmured, distracted once more. Something was…off. But what? Thus far, the most dangerous part of their journey had been the boar. Rats had scurried away from them in the abandoned gallery above and the wind had moaned eerily through the tower. It wasn’t alarming so much as it was unnerving. But something—some instinct—was beginning to chime in warning. “Hiccup, hush.”

“Fishlegs is in charge of our dragon classification, but I think it’s a fair to say that it isn’t a level 6 dragon. He’ll need to put an entry in the Book of Dragons and we’ll need to—”

She clapped a hand over his mouth, glaring. He winced and muttered something underneath her fingers that sounded like, “Wath da—” She gripped him on the nape of his neck and pulled his face down so that he was at a level with her. He stumbled awkwardly due to the height disparity then stilled when Merida shuffled close so their bodies nearly touched.

Breath puffing against his ear, she whispered as quietly as she could manage, “Do you hear that?”

Eyes wide, Hiccup stilled. Silence ensued. But it wasn’t the comfortable silence of old places and forgotten pasts. It was the absence of sound right before a predator attacked.

A gust of wind blasted through the hallway. Merida was flung backward against a column of ice. The back of her head cracked against surface, and she saw stars. Hiccup would have crushed her if he hadn’t braced himself just in time. The torch guttered in the gale.

The wind died as abruptly as it came. Gritting her teeth, Merida forced her eyes open and realized she _was_ seeing stars.

“Son of a half troll,” the Viking swore underneath his breath. He took a shaky step away from her and blew on the embers of the torch. “What was—”

“Look up.” The hallway was illuminated by a hundred little blue-green lights that terminated in a portal a hundred paces away. They were nestled in the ice, each soft pinpoint giving a diffuse glow that made it seem as if the light came from everywhere and nowhere at once. The effect was beautiful and otherworldly—as if they’d just stepped underwater.

“Electricsquirms” he whispered. “Nanodragons native to the northern islands in the Barbaric Archipelago. They usually dwell around dragon nests.”

“These are what made that clearing?”

“No!” Hiccup pulled a face. “Timberjacks are much larger.”

“Then we had best get going then,” Merida nodded to the torch. “That won’t last much longer and I don’t think your electricsquirms light the whole palace.”

 

* * *

 

 

The passage ended in a ledge overlooking an underground cavern that would have fit DunBroch and its village three times over. Fog writhed at the bottom. An icy wind gusted from the large opening at the far end where Merida thought she could see the night sky, moonlight and the pitted surface of the Frozen Loch.

“You were right.” The Viking nodded to the nearest, visible shoreline. A cracked wooden dock jutted out into the mist where Merida could make out the prows of sunken longboats. Wooden platforms branched off from the main dock, rose, submerged and rose again like some great humpbacked sea serpent.

“‘Course I was.” She carefully withdrew her bow even as she kept her eyes steady on the level below them. A familiar structure caught her eye and a gasp ripped through her. “By the stars, I’ve never seen them so large.”

Standing stones—half a hundred times the size of the Callanish stones—thrust out of the ice and towered over shadows and shape landscape.

“What are they?” Her companion squinted in the direction she pointed.

“My people call them the Ring of Stones. The ancients built dozens of them across the land though for what purpose is lost in legend. Mor’Du and his kin were said to be the last to use it.” After a beat, she added, “Peculiar things happen around them.”

“Like people turning into demon bears?”

“Just—odd things. Faraway places coming together like the ends of a string brought next to one another. Strange folk coming and going. I saw a boy once with hair as white as frost carrying a shepherd’s staff.”

His brow contracted. “You’ve seen J—”

A scream shattered the stillness followed by a sharp crack. “Help! Oh gods, please help me! I don’t want to die!”

Exchanging wide-eyed looks, both ran down the frozen loch. The fog was so thick it was hard to see more than three paces ahead. “Wait, we can’t just go charging in like this,” Hiccup panted as they reached the shore. “What if the ice isn’t thick enough?”

“You’re right,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “Hey! Where are you? We’re coming to help!”

“Oh Thor.”

The fog seemed to distort sound. She thought she heard sobbing or perhaps it was flapping. Then, “It’s coming! IT’S COMING! HELP!”

“Here!” She took Hiccup’s hand and dashed through the wooden dock. Their footsteps raised an almighty clamor and twice they jumped just in time to avoid missing planks. As they neared the source of the screams, the platform ended abruptly. Looking down, Merida realized that it must have fallen partway through the water. “He must be on the ice.”

The screams broke off into gurgles.

Without a thought, she jumped and Hiccup was right beside her. They landed with a dull thud, but the ice held firm. Heart in her throat, she charged almost directly to the enormous Standing Stones.

Whether by some trick of the wind or witchcraft, there was no mist around the monoliths. Hiccup’s flickering torchlight extended far and revealed two men on the ground. One lay on his back, his stomach slashed open and his guts trailing the ground. Steam still rose from his body. The other was alive, but barely. His hands grasped futilely at his throat where blood gushed. At their approach, his eyes widened in terror, confusion and, bitterest of all, hope. He tried to speak, but no sound came.

“Stay still,” she ordered, kneeling beside him. “We need to see the wound.”

“Merida, no. It’s too late.”

“We don’t know that!”

“He can’t talk. The cut went through his throat.”

“We have to try.” But she could see the Viking was right. Already, the man’s movements were sluggish. “Come on; you can make it. We’ll take you back to DunBroch.”

With one last burst of strength, the man pointed to the Standing Stones where, almost hidden in its shadow, was a sheep. Then he grasped Merida’s hand and mouthed a syllable: _Run._

“I don’t understand. What are you—don’t—” But the man’s hand fell limply from hers and he breathed his last. Merida stared.

“O-kay.” The Viking stared at the sheep. It chewed peacefully, undisturbed by the screams or the movement near it. “That was a bit anti-climactic.”

“Forget the sheep for a second. What happened here? I don’t understand.”

“Let’s figure it out then.”

She blew out a long breath and stood up. The Viking was right. What did Linus teach her about tracking? _Start from the edges and work your way to the center._ Looking around, she spotted circular cracks radiating outwards not too far from the man. “He must have fallen here.”

“And broke both legs.” Hiccup squatted to examine the limbs. A bone jutted out below the man’s left shin.

“From where, though? The Standing Stone?”

“You’d be dead from a fall that height.”

“It’s the only place he could have fallen from.”

“Trust me. I know a lot about falling.” At the puzzled look she gave him, he added hastily, “Berk is very, erm, cliff-y.”

“All right. We’re not sure where he fell from, but he broke both legs on landing.” She examined the tracks, what little there was, on the dry ice. “He crawled a little bit away before something attacked him.”

“Something fast with sharp claws.” Hiccup held the torch a little closer to the man’s ruined throat. She could see a pale strip of white—bone, she realized—amid the gore. Blood was beginning to freeze at the wound. “No defensive wounds on his arms. His throat was clawed out in a couple of seconds, I’d say.”

“No tracks either on the ice besides the men.” She swept the area carefully. “Could it be the dragon?”

“A dragon’s claws would tear a man in half, not just his throat.”

“His friend was disemboweled.” She made her way closer to the other body then halted abruptly. She whipped back to the first man then to the second. “The thieves from the Mallaig!”

“Mall-what?”

Hastily, she recounted the bandits attacking the border villages between Dingwall and Macintosh territories and their untimely, mysterious demise in their hillside hideout. “Look, this one has the sword with the odd cross guard. I’d recognize it anywhere. The other wore the same tartan from the body we discovered. And—the sheep! Now that I think of it, the sheep looks like it’s from the Dingwall herds. The dragon must go to the Deep Woods to hunt!”

“That doesn’t track with anything that I know about dragons.”

“Well, what’s your explanation then?”

“Look, it just doesn’t make sense. Dragons—most man-eating dragons—couldn’t fly in a cave the size you’re describing. Also, dragons don’t keep prey. They’d roast and eat it right away. You said there weren’t any burn marks in the cave; I don’t see any here. They don’t slash their prey and leave it. And,” here Hiccup walked to the sheep. “They prefer sheep over humans. Why would it go after humans instead of the sheep? Why did it leave the sheep here?”

She stared. Not at Hiccup, but at the sheep. Something seemed off about it; something was wrong. The instinct that’d been chiming in the back of her mind turned into a furious clanging bell. Slowly, she raised her bow and took out an arrow.

“What are you doing?” The Viking raised his free hand up, palm facing her. At her intense stare, the boy groaned. “Do _not_ say it’s right behind me.”

But it was too late. Hiccup’s leg brushed the sheep. A burst of light blinded her followed by an angry, deafening shriek. She heard Hiccup’s shout of surprise and the clatter of the torch as it fell on a half-submerged longboat. When her eyes finally adjusted, she stared openmouthed as the largest bird she’d ever seen lifted Hiccup bodily to the sky.

Her response was swift and precise. An arrow to the bird’s leg made it drop the Viking mid-flight. The boy skidded several feet into the ice—safe. But not her.

The thing—whatever it was—turned its attention to her and dove. Merida ran for all she was worth. She’d made it to the center of the Ring of Stones before some instinct made her turn sharply to the side. The creature’s claws raked her arm. The pain was so sharp that she dropped her bow almost at once. Cursing, she spun to pick it up and nearly received had her eyes gouged out by the lightning-swift return of the bird.

“Duck!”

She dropped to the floor and heard a meaty thunk. When she looked up, she saw the Viking knife embedded on the creature’s leg—the same leg that she’d struck with the arrow. The bird listed heavily to the side before crashing to the ground.

That was all the time she needed. She picked up her bow at the same time she rose to her feet. Backing up to the outer edges of the Ring of Stones, she sighted the bird’s head outlined by the fire from the now-burning longboat. Time slowed; her focus narrowed until all she could see was the thing that wanted her dead. She could feel its pure hungry intent aimed squarely at her and she could feel her own fury rising in kind. She released the arrow.

The arrow flew true. Merida could see the trajectory of its flight in her mind. It would hit the bird in the eye. If it hadn’t transformed in the space of a breath from a bird to a giant water bull.

“Bleeding Hell,” Merida cursed as the arrow struck it in the neck instead—a fatal wound if it had been a creature of normal proportions. As it was, it only shrugged its meaty shoulders and the arrow snapped off.

“Merida, look out!”

She ignored boy’s shout and withdrew another arrow. A quiet, cool rage displaced any other emotion. No fear, no confusion, no surprise. Only the overwhelming knowing that the creature was going to kill her and she was NOT. PREY. The bow creaked as she sighted again and drew the string back.

Hiccup tackled her so hard they skidded several feet on the ice.

“Are you mad!” she snarled. Her arrow had gone wide of the creature.

“Look!”

“I _was_ looking!”

“Below us!”

Her eyes dropped to the ice. Shadows undulated in the light of the now roaring fire. The ice must be melting, she realized, then, no. Her eyes tracked the shape as it extended far beyond them and towards the water bull bellowing its fury. There was _something_ underneath the ice.

The frozen loch turned a luminescent blue then orange as if lit by an internal fire. In the sudden brightness, she could make out the serpentine shadow below them. The Ring of Stones erupted in an explosion of ice.

When the debris settled, Merida saw the last of the water bull disappearing in the white dragon’s jaw. The creature snapped its jaws shut and the sounded echoed like an executioner’s axe against a chopping block.

“That’s the dragon in the p—”

She clapped her hand over his mouth, but it was too late. The creature turned its head and stared at them. Its eyes were pale blue and its scales glittered like snow in the sun. Just above waterline, Merida could see a strip of gold around the creature’s neck. The dragon inhaled deeply as if testing the air.

“Okay, your turn then,” she whispered. “What’s the plan?”

“Plan?” he hissed back. “Why do you think I have a plan? That’s not a timberjack!”

“Well obviously! But you’ve dealt with this sort of thing before. It’s not bigger than the Red Death, is it?”

“That was kind of a rare occasion! Did you have a plan when that shapeshifting sheep-bird-cattle thing—” His words cut off when the dragon sank slowly underneath the ice. The firelight allowed Merida to trace the shape of Hiccup’s jaw, the furrowed brow framing wide, worried eyes. His breath was shallow and she noticed him swallow. “This is usually the part where something jumps out and eats us.”

A part of Merida wanted to laugh, a bigger part wanted to punch him, and the biggest part wanted him to shut his trap. Instead, she pushed him away and peeked around the pillar. “Has it gone?”

“Or it could be hiding.”

“Which is more likely?”

“Let’s find out.” Hiccup walked towards the center of the Ring of Stones, Merida only half a step behind him. Adrenaline, a keener rush than anything she’d felt in a long time, pulsed in her veins. She was afraid, yes, but this was the good kind of fear. It was the kind of fear that let her know she was alive.

Nothing leapt out at them. The only sound was the crackle of the fire and the crunch of the ice and debris as they picked their way to the hole.

“It must be related to a timberjack.”

“Don’t you think there’s something odd about the stones?”

“See these piles of kindling?”

“Yes, but—”

“Very similar to timberjack nests only ten times bigger. Timberjacks feed on birds so they knock the tops off trees and they gather the wood underneath and—“

“Forget about the dragon for a second.” Merida grabbed his arm and turned him towards the nearest pillar. “What do you see?”

“Looks like the pillars from the carving. In fact,” Hiccup took out his notebook and held it out. He glanced to the other pillars near them. “I can’t be sure, but I think it’s placed exactly like the pillars from the carvings. Thor, sometimes I hate being right.”

“The pillars are glowing.”

“You’re right.” Her companion peered more closely at the pillar. “Why is it glowing?”

“Princesses aren’t usually experts on glowing rocks.”

“It’s the same type of rock as the Queen’s Tooth.”

Merida’s brow contracted. That couldn’t be mere coincidence. She’d heard too many stories about the Queen’s Tooth, had seen too many odd things around it, to dismiss the connection. But what did pillars made from the same stone as the Queen’s Tooth and placed the same way as the Callanish Stones have anything to do with a dragon?

Movement caught her eye. She held herself perfectly still, not reacting, not looking, just noticing. A shape undulated, slow and subtle, underneath the water.

Her fingers fisted around Hiccup’s arm. The Viking glanced down, saw the direction of her gaze and swore softly underneath his breath. “Okay, we’re not going to panic.”

“Uhh.” She couldn’t concentrate. All her senses were screaming at her and she dropped any pretense of not looking. Her eyes were fixed on the coils coming closer and closer.

“Run!”

Merida threw herself to the side and rolled off to the end of one pillar. A few seconds later, ice erupted outwards and rained down on her. When her vision cleared, she saw that Hiccup had been knocked back against the pillar, dazed. A huge serpentine shape loomed out of the mound. Its jaws split wide open. She nocked an arrow.

“Don’t shoot it!”

The Princess of the Highlands blinked as the Viking stumbled to his feet. Cursing under her breath, she readjusted her aim, pulled back the string and let the missile fly. The arrow flew right in front of the dragon’s eyes. It jerked its head at her and roared.

Spears of ice whistled through the air. Time slowed. Blood roared through her ears. The wisps appeared. She followed their trail, weaving her way through pillars, the half-submerged longboats, and fallen dock crisscrossing the ice. The ice spears shattered close to her, but none found its mark.

She threw herself behind a longboat and Hiccup was there too, panting. Peering behind her, she saw that the ice spears had sheared through longboat, dock and stone. The dragon _had_ made that strange clearing near DunBroch. _So close_ , she thought with distant, _so close to my family._

The dragon climbed on to the surface of the loch. The ice groaned under its weight and deep cracks radiated around its body. “The ice isn’t gonna last much longer if it moves around.”

The Viking chortled, the sound half amused and half mad. “Are you impressed yet?”

She glanced at him, startled, and remembered her words after they’d jumped off the waterfall. _Go on then. Impress me._ Despite the situation, a smile bloomed full and sincere on her face. “Well, you’re not boring.”

A booming crash echoed overhead and they scattered.

“You sure I can’t shoot it?” she shouted, using a moment’s rest as she ducked behind a dock. She glimpsed Hiccup jump as the dragon lashed its tail across the floor. He landed on his feet and bolted towards the pillar.

“Absolutely not!”

“Got any other plans beside don’t get eaten?” She slid behind the burning longboat. The dragon whipped its tail and sent the entire structure flying through the air.

“Don’t get me eaten!” He ducked as bits of burning wood smashed into the pillar behind him.

“Very helpful!”

“The pillars! Wait—the paintings told us everything.” There was a crash as the dragon knocked over a mound of ice near the Viking. Merida resisted the urge to let an arrow fly at the dragon. As the ice cleared, she saw Hiccup scramble behind another pillar. “The paintings are true!”

“WE CAN TALK ABOUT THAT LATER! CONCENTRATE ON THE LIFE OR DE—” Merida cut off to duck underneath a spear of ice. The ground came up hard and knocked the breath out of her.

“I’ll distract the dragon and you light the pillar I point out on fire.”

“How do I do that?”

“Trust me!” A piece of wood came flying and knocked into the dragon’s hide. It turned and Hiccup was there shouting and waving. “Just shoot it!

“Too late to doubt you now,” Merida muttered. “This is the daftest plan I’ve ever heard.” Keeping an eye on Hiccup who was running away from the dragon, Merida stood near a small patch of burning debris and lit an arrow. “Which pillar?”

“Two to your right!” Hiccup gasped as he ran the opposite direction, dragon at his heel. “Then the three in front of that!”

She couldn’t keep from glancing over. He was really close to being eaten. Biting her lip, Merida lit the first arrow and released. It flew true and the pillar immediately glowed a vivid sky-blue. She nocked three flaming arrows at the same time and let it fly. The fourth arrow she shot in front to the side of the dragon. It whipped its head and froze the missile mid-flight.

“Come on!” Heart hammering in her throat, she withdrew six more arrows and held them loosely along with her bow in her left hand. “Is that all you’ve got? I’ve seen bears do worse!”

The most peculiar thing happened then. The dragon paused as if to regard her, as if it hadn’t actually properly seen her before. It cocked its pale head and the firelight caught on the glints of blue edging its scales. It looked ancient and angry and so very intelligent.

“What are you doing?” Hiccup broke the spell. He had sprinted six pillars. “I got this!”

“Which pillars are next?” Merida nocked an arrow. The dragon tracked her movements with terrifying focus.

“I’m the one who—”

“Don’t make me shoot you!” Merida lit the arrow on fire.

“Oh for Thor’s sake—second pillar down from the last one you lit.”

The dragon launched itself at her. Merida released the arrow and threw herself to the side. While she dodged and dove behind pillars, she shot arrow after arrow at the targets Hiccup shouted at her. The Viking had grabbed a flaming piece of wood and was lighting the exact same pattern on the pillars opposite Merida.

"Last one to the left!"

Just as the arrow left the bow, Merida felt her instincts scream. She dodged desperately but knew it would be too late. The dragon's tail lashed against her middle and sent her sailing clean into a pillar. She heard Hiccup shouting, saw the bright burst of sky-blue surge as he lit a final pillar and then the dragon screamed. It was an awful sound.

It sounded harsh and keening. It sounded like loss and despair. She felt something echo back at her and for one wild moment, she wondered if he had harmed the creature after all.

Merida let out a pained grunt as she rolled to her side and felt something snap.

"Please don't tell me that's a bone." The Viking knelt next to her, breath harsh and cheeks flushed. He touched her shoulder gingerly. "Can you move your leg?"

She kicked him. "It was my bow, you numpty."

He sat back on his haunches, annoyance writ across his face. "I am never going to be concerned for you ever again. You just don't know how to accept it with grace."

"And you just don't know when to shut up." She winced, sitting up. "Where's the dragon?"

Hiccup jerked his head to the center of the burning Ring of Stones. Past the flickering flames, Merida gasped to see the creature, head bowed and panting, standing in the exact center. It closed its eyes and wailed again.

Without even thinking, Merida scrambled to her feet and staggered towards the creature. It was large, perhaps half the height of the tallest tower in DunBroch, and serpentine in shape. Its wings beat the air furiously and Merida saw the curious pattern of scales—almost feather like, but glistening.

"How'd you do it?"

"The paintings told us everything. The Highlanders used a combination of their own sorcery and our seidr to chain it to the Ring of Stones. Look at the collar.”

The dragon rumbled once more. It panted, straining, and now that she had the leisure to look closely, she could see a golden chain attached to its collar and disappearing into the lock underneath. "You trapped it."

"Our ancestors did. We're setting it free.”

"And that's going to stop it from killing us or going on a rampage in my kingdom, how?"

"Can't you tell? It just wants to go home."

It should have sounded stupid, but it didn't. Merida tore her gaze away from the dragon and stared at the boy somehow. She didn't think he'd be able to surprise her or capture her attention with such a creature before them. Yet, incredibly, even though logic told her that the dragon could leap out of its bond and tear them to pieces, even if the bond still somehow held true, the dragon could still spear them on the spot, all her attention was fixed on the boy beside her.

Hiccup's green eyes were serious and compassionate and, somehow, far away. Further away than she'd ever seen anyone. A little voice niggled in the back of her mind and a flash of insight told her that this boy, this gangly awkward Viking, had seen more horizons and vistas than any of the young lords. His shoulders were squared, but relaxed, his chest rose and fell in calm, even breaths. He wasn't tense or anxious. He was simply... kind.

It struck Merida more than she thought it would, more than she would ever let on. She'd always imagined that strength or bravery or battle prowess would make someone striking. And they did. As much as she wouldn't like to, she was impressed by Osgar's battle prowess, by Alan's unflappable bravery and Niall Dingwall's sheer persistence. Wasn't strength the reason she was drawn to Andres? The quiet Roman who never showed off or spoke too loudly but who dominated a room by the way he stood, the way he looked, the way his mind perceived people and their intentions. She hadn't expected kindness to strike a chord within her, and from such an unusual quarter too. Vikings were supposed to be bloodthirsty barbarians who cared for nothing and no one. She'd heard the aftermath of the Viking raids, heard stories of the consequences of the reaving, the broken families, some carried off to the Barbaric Archipelago, and the others left behind succumbing to despair. Sima was such an example. She'd almost been a thrall to the Vikings if not for Alan's bravery.

Hiccup was like nobody she'd ever met before.

The boy walked forward, eyes fixed on the creature before him. The white dragon snapped its eyes open and roared again. So close, Merida clapped her hands over her ears. Hiccup seemed unaffected. He walked inexorably forward, hand now outstretched. "It's okay. I'm not here to hurt you."

It took a deep, long breath and for one wild moment Merida feared it would spew its deadly ice spears and they would die after all. But no. The creature simply smelled him, thoroughly. Then it turned its head away, as if Hiccup wasn't even worth paying attention to. It licked its chops, much the same way the kitchen cat would lick its chops as if unconcerned, but really keeping an eye on everyone and everything, particularly the food, in the room.

The boy took that as permission as well. Careful to tread slowly, he inspected the dragon up close. She didn't need to hear his muttering to know that he was in awe of the thing. It was in the reverent glances he cast its way, the wonder writ in his brow and the gentleness with which he moved. Unbidden, the Princess thought, _Whoever he marries, whoever he loves, is an extraordinarily lucky woman_.

She colored at the thought and stamped her foot. The dragon and Hiccup both glanced at her and she was struck by the simultaneous way in which they moved. It was as if a little bit of the boy was in the dragon and a little bit of the dragon's reptilian quality was transferred to the boy.

"You sure it's safe to stand there?"

"I have to find out how to free it. I think the last rune we have to light, the rune to free it, is on the collar.”

The thick, interlocking chains around the dragon's neck was made of a gold so bright it seemed to glow. The flesh around the chain was bruised and irritated. It was a beautiful chain but a cruel one too.

Taking a deep breath, Merida stepped closer again, careful to imitate his actions. The dragon stopped its pretended indifference and stared at her. Ignoring the goosebumps prickling along the back of her head and arms, Merida raised both hands. "I'm not here to hurt you, either. See? No weapons."

A low rumble and a quick flash of teeth.

She stopped, heart in her throat. She wasn't sure what to do. Then Hiccup was beside her, voice as soothing to her as if she was a dragon herself.

"Don't be scared." He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me?"

"Too late now.”

Hiccup gave her a little boyish smile and Merida scowled. He entwined their fingers and, very slowly, he raised it up as if reaching out to the dragon. The thing growled again, haunches tensed.

"Stop that. Is that how you thank the people who are trying to rescue you?"

Merida blinked at his words. She'd never thought he'd try to scold a dragon.

The dragon licked its chops again.

"Okay, move with me. But no sudden movements. He's all right with us for now, but you can't stop basic instinct."

"Right."

Careful to keep close to Hiccup, Merida inspected the beast. It smelled like winter—crisp snowfall, winds from the north, of a world complete silent and still. She peered closely at the chain Hiccup was skimming with his fingers.

"I've never seen craftsmanship like this. I don't think Dad's warhammer could make a dent in this thing."

The Princess didn't touch the chain, but she followed the progress of the Viking’s fingers. Ideas whirled in her mind. It seemed an impossible situation.

"Why was the dragon able to fly out before? Close to DunBroch, I mean? Why didn't the collar work then?"

"It was bound during the Hunter’s Moon. I think the chains are weakest around that time.”

Merida mulled that over. "That makes sense. The Hunter's Moon only comes once every four years and this Hunter's Moon is special. The golden moon only appears once every forty years. That’s probably why more crofters have talked of seeing odd things in the sky or in the forests.”

"This poor thing has probably been trying to get out, testing the boundaries of where it can go." Hiccup's fingers moved over the collar and hesitated. “It must have tried to take the tree tops off with its ice spears thinking that it was a physical boundary. I’ll bet there are more places like that clearing in DunBroch. Here, found the rune.”

Merida shuffled so that their shoulders touched and looked at what Hiccup was pointing at. A lock bound the two ends of the collar together and inscribed on the lock was a rune. “I saw a pillar with that same rune.”

“Come on then.” He took one of her arrows and lit the tip with a nearby fire.

She hesitated. “My people can’t be harmed. They’re innocent.”

“So is the dragon.”

“But…”

“It was wrong to chain it up here away from its fellow dragons. It’s been alone for hundreds of years. Why would you keep it here? For the sake of tradition? Because it’s what always been done?”

She started as if he’d struck her himself. It was if he’d reached in her mind and plucked out the words she’d so often said to her own mother. Soundlessly, she pointed to the correct pillar.

The Viking stabbed the arrow deep into the stone. The rune, just like its fellow, glowed a deep angry red and the pillar glowed like the color of a deep sky. The collar fell to the ice with a click.

The dragon stilled. There was no sound in the room. Hiccup backed slowly away from the creature until he was beside her again. Their eyes were fixed on the dragon as it stared somewhere to the left. A deep rumble started shivering through the earth underneath their feet. She wasn't sure if the earth shook, or it was the dragon's rumble or some strange sorcery. The air in the room felt different somehow, strangely charged and electrified. Hair rose in the back of her neck and she could taste the ozone in the air.

The dragon whipped its head around and bared its teeth. It came close, so close, the princess could smell the stink of its breath and Hiccup's hair puffed back against the dragon's breath. He stood calm, confident, and completely unafraid. He held out a hand again, to ward or to reach out, she wasn't sure. The dragon touched the hand briefly with its nose and then it turned its attention to her.

Merida stiffened at once. Her breathing accelerated despite her best attempts to control it. The dragon's pale blue eyes regarded her, and Merida felt that strange alien intelligence peering at her and through her. Inspecting her. Pride lifted her chin. She was not going to be bullied, not by her mother, not by Helen, not by the lords and certainly not by some dragon no matter how big it was or how sharp its claws and tails were. "Don't hurt anyone in my kingdom," she said. "We'd nothing to do with your imprisonment. The people who did that died long ago. They've paid for their sins in blood."

The dragon sniffed her once, withdrew, and then it bounded away. It snapped its wings open and Merida gasped at the sight. She'd never properly seen it before, hadn't been in a position to appreciate it, but the wings were _beautiful_. Like the fins of some aquatic creature, its wings unfolded and undulated in the sky, caught some slight current, and bore it aloft. It flew to cavern entrance, and hurtled itself skywards and to the west. If it stayed its course, it would reach the sea and thence the Barbaric Archipelago.

"I know you wanted me to kill it, but that's not who I am. That's not what it is. It won't hurt anybody."

"You're wrong. I didn't want you to kill it." Merida's mouth firmed. Keeping her eyes firmly trained on the dragon, she said, "All wild things deserve to be free."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens! Hiccup meets the young lords and learns precisely what the Princess of DunBroch is made of. In turn, Merida sees just how different Hiccup is from every other person she’s ever met. In the backdrop, a connection is made between the ancient Highlanders and the ancient Vikings.
> 
> I do hope y'all enjoyed this chapter. It’s a turning point for the two of them with implications to the larger overall story. Out of a curiosity, how many of you would like to see the storyboard/scrapbook thingie I made of the castle sequence?
> 
> Any errors or inconsistencies are all my fault. I’m in between betas at the moment and, if you can’t tell, this is my very first time writing something of this length with this much detail and side plots swirling about. I keep thinking that there is a way to streamline this, but I’d rather get it out to you folks than sit on it any longer.
> 
> To my dear reviewers, THANK YOU! It means so much that you take the time to actually drop a line of appreciation or share your favorite highlight of the chapter or give me kudos. I cherish every single one even if my schedule doesn’t permit me to respond. You guys inspire me to write better and faster.


	20. Casualties of War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruff and Tuff stopped mid laugh once they saw Hiccup's face.
> 
> "What dead dragon riders?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously on CROSSING THE HORIZON:
> 
> In an attempt to gain a powerful ally in his war against Berk, Alvin reveals to Dagur that certain Hooligans have begun riding dragons. Enraged at the direct violation of the peace treaty between the Hooligans and the Berserkers, Dagur attacks the dragon riders. Astrid attempts to kill Dagur before he reaches his men but is prevented by Hiccup. Hiccup delivers the comatose Dagur back to the Berserkers and blames the Outcasts for the attack. But Stoick knows it's only a matter of time before Dagur wakes and bears the full might of the Berserker armada against Berk.
> 
> Meanwhile, Alvin and the Outcasts continue their war of attrition. Because Hiccup refuses to be part of the war efforts, Stoick has appointed Astrid to lead the Dragon Riders and the Academy. The Dragon Riders are unsuccessful in finding or defending against the Outcast Fleet in part because they must avoid Berserker warships patrolling the seas. Frustrated by their inability to fight the Outcasts and preparing for the looming threat of Berserker reprisal, tensions rise in the village.

It was hard being the village pariah and doubly so when you're half the village's pariah. Many Hooligan mothers thanked him with gifts of baked fish cake or woven beads. Warriors turned their heads whenever he walked into a room or spoke. The children were the worst. He was never sure if he was going to be jeered or praised. It hadn't turned to outright bullying, but that could be because Hiccup was always accompanied by Toothless.

Even now, Toothless kept a sharp eye on its rider while Hiccup tidied Gobber's stall. With Gobber so heavily involved in the war efforts, his apprentices had been given the run of the stall. In truth, the stall could be a lot worse (they hadn't blown anything up like Hiccup had been prone to), but it was also dangerously untidy. Half finished blades were placed haphazardly on tables mixed with tools. The forge door had been left open and now the fire cooled. Plates of food were scattered about the room in the oddest places—a cupboard, the anvil, the floor.

Hiccup had just placed the hammers in their proper places when Toothless looked up from his doze. His tail thumped once and Hiccup knew whoever was approaching was friendly.

"Hello?"

Hiccup peeked over the broad counter in Gobber's stall. A little girl, nicknamed Rosy for her red cheeks, looked up at him with her brown pigtails and too-thin face. Her clothes were unkempt, more unkempt than her mother would have allowed. "Hey, Rosy. Can I get you anything?"

"Gothi says Dad would have died if it weren't for the ointment you brought back."

"I—I'm sorry to hear your dad is hurt."

"Do you think you could bring back more?" The girl's lip trembled. Her hands twisted in her skirt. "Gothi said she had to save the ointment for everyone else, but I just know if you brought back more—"

"Hey, hey," Hiccup came round the other side and put his hands on the girl's shoulders. "I'll get more the next time I go. But your Dad's gonna be fine."

"I know." Rosy dashed tears from her cheeks. "But I want him to be fine now. Can you find out how to make it?"

"I'll ask around DunBroch. If no one knows, I'll go to the Princess myself."

"Is there really a princess?" For the first time, Rosy's eyes weren't sad. They were wide with wonder and curiosity that showed every bit of her ten years. "What's she like?"

"She's…" Short, slim, blue-eyed, fire-haired? Ferocious, unpredictable and short-tempered? Their backgrounds so vastly different she might as well be another creature entirely—except when he saw his own reflection in her.

_All wild things deserve to be free. The words had echoed in Hiccup's mind and he had felt something answer inside him. Lips parted, he had taken a deep breath to speak before realizing—he wasn't quite sure what to say. Wordlessly, she'd led him up the ruined palace, silent halls still filled with shrieks from the past, and up to the forest._

_He'd watched her; he hadn't been able to help himself. She seemed both familiar and strange all at once. The moon cast a cool glow on the arch of her brows, the red in her cheeks and the purse of her lips as the princess spun in a slow circle. With a start, Hiccup realized she was searching for the Lode-Star—the same star dragon riders used to navigate during night flights._

" _There." He stepped close enough that her curls brushed his arm before lifting it. He'd spent enough time in the skies to pick out the Lode-Star anywhere._

_She glanced up as she murmured her thanks. His eyes dropped._

_He told her of the Reaping Fleet—hearing the cries of a hundred dragons being lead to their deaths—and of the delicate treaty between the Berserkers and the Hooligans._

" _A peace treaty is based on mutual respect," she shuddered. "They disrespected you by coming to your home with the Reaping Fleet. My father hasn't outlawed the gambling arenas, but they daren't show their faces in DunBroch. We must respect their traditions; they must respect ours. You should have said as much to your father."_

" _I can't talk to my father about that."_

" _Why not?"_

" _Because he's the Chief. Haven't you been unable to talk to your father or mother because they're the king and queen?"_

_As sick and weary as the subject made him feel, Hiccup still felt a thrill of gladness as Merida's lips parted in surprised recognition. She would know what that meant—the wild daughter of Elinor and Fergus, and yet still the Princess of DunBroch with all the obligations and duties that entailed._

"Not what you'd expect." Hiccup smiled lopsidedly, "She was the one who gave me the medicine. Next time I go, I'll ask her how to make it so we can have as much as we need."

The little girl threw her arms around Hiccup's middle. She mumbled a "thank you!" before running back. Hiccup guessed she was making her way back to Gothi's hut. Even the young ones had been put to work in this war.

Hiccup watched her go, a mixture of gladness and guilt twisting in his chest. He should have done better to protect his village. He should do more.

But what could he do? He was helpless. Unless he volunteered himself and Toothless. Unless he was willing to silence Dagur forever, someone who lay sleeping and defenseless in his own bed. Unless he was willing to slaughter every single Berserker and Outcast in the entire Barbaric Archipelago.

Toothless nudged Hiccup and brought him back to himself. Hiccup released his breath. The knot in his chest eased. He cupped Toothless's familiar, beloved face and thunked their foreheads together. "I can't do it, bud," he whispered, breathing in the lightning and gale scent of Toothless's hide. "I just can't. I won't kill anybody."

The dragon crooned mournfully before pulling back. It cocked its head to the nearly full wheelbarrow by the counter. Hiccup nodded. "Let's get these weapons to the back. Maybe we can go for a ride later, yeah?"

Shouts brought Hiccup to attention followed by a crash. He exited the forge and saw a young zippelback, panicked, launch itself from a shed and into a pen. The shed collapsed under the dragon's weight and the animals in the pen scattered. In the moment where the dragon landed, Hiccup saw a young boy clinging to the back of the zippelback and realized it was Crowtooth. A moment later, Hiccup realized why the dragon was running. A group of men were chasing them with clubs and rope.

"Stay back! Toothless, keep them back!"

The Night Fury leapt into the path of the incoming men, growling, wings flared out. The men ceased at once.

Hiccup ran up to the zippelback in the pen. The animal hissed and flared out its wings. Hiccup held out his hands. The zippelback cocked its heads to the side. In the sudden quiet, he could hear Crowtooth's sobs.

"Hey, Anvil. Hey, Hammer. You remember me, don't you?"

The young zippelback considered Hiccup solemnly before lowering its head to touch Hiccup's hands one each. Hiccup blew out a breath and rubbed the back of their heads soothingly. "It's all right. It's okay. No one's gonna hurt you. You all right back there, Crowtooth?"

Crowtooth cried. Hiccup frowned, puzzled. It wasn't like Crowtooth to cry. The boy hadn't cried ever since his father died and he'd taken the responsibility of caring for his younger sister seriously. Why was he on Anvil and Hammer? Where was his Monstrous Nightmare—Lavatongue?

"Get that kid off the dragon!" shouted a man.

Anvil and Hammer snapped to attention. Hiccup soothed the dragon automatically while Toothless hissed. The men took a step back.

"What's your problem?" Hiccup frowned.

"He destroyed three houses and a trebuchet that took us months to build!"

"Hiccup, I need to get Lavatongue back!" Crowtooth sobbed. "Before it's too—"

"Typical dragon rider! Always wrecking sh—"

"He'll end up just like Snotlout's patrol."

"Lavatongue isn't dead!" Crowtooth shrilled. "He's not dead! HE'S NOT!"

A large shadow covered the group and moments later, Barf and Belch landed. Hiccup frowned. The landing was far more awkward than Hiccup expected from the dragon. As Ruffnut and Tuffnut descended, Hiccup knew why. Belch limped. Tuffnut put a hand against the leg and Belch hissed. Barf bumped Belch's head comfortingly. Ruffnut came forward, face weary.

Hiccup's heart twisted. The twins looked like they'd been in a fight. Parts of their body were smudged with dirt or soot. A cut bled freely from Tuffnut's brow. Ruffnut walked stiffly, the way she always did when she was too hurt but didn't want anyone to know.

"Ruff, you okay?"

"Why?" she smirked. "Are you gonna set my clothes on fire to help out?"

"Nice." Hiccup rolled his eyes at their joke, but was too relieved to complain. If she was still making cracks, they couldn't be too hurt. "For the record, I didn't actually set the Princess's clothes on fire."

"No, you just ripped it off her," Tuff chortled maniacally. "I mean, I knew you'd desperate after breaking up with Astrid, but Thor, Hiccup, that's a new low."

"I didn't—that's not what—What are you doing here!"

"Picking up stray sheep. Party's over, Crowtooth." Ruffnut crossed her arms. "You're going back to Fishlegs at the Academy."

"Lavatongue is—"

"You could have gotten Anvil and Hammer killed, moron," Ruff snapped. "That's not helping anybody."

"Hey, you have to help us rebuild all the stuff he destroyed." The other men raised their voices in agreement then stopped when Toothless stamped its foot.

"Do you hear that, Ruff?" Tuffnut put a hand to his ear. Belch growled.

"It's a weird sound," Ruff agreed. "It might be words, but we don't speak _loser_."

Hiccup's mouth dropped open. "Ruff—"

"You watch your tongue." The men fairly bristled. The atmosphere, which had been tense before, now became outright hostile. "We're not the ones who lost six of our apprentices because of our own incompetence."

"You watch yours!" Tuff stomped over, arms swinging and jaw tight. "All we hear from you is whine whine whine about this apprentice or that dragon. Guess _what_? Accidents happen."

"Accidents?" sneered one man. "Dragons are supposed to help us win the war. The chief said so. But all I see are burned buildings, a whole armada of Berserkers and now four dragon riders dead. That's not an accident. That's stupidity."

"I'll show you stu—"

"Everybody, back off!" Hiccup caught both the twins before they reached the men.

"Yes, hide behind the worst Viking in the entire Archipelago," said one man. He made spat on the ground. "One disaster calls to another."

"You're the worst Viking ever you, you—" Tuffnut's epithet was impressive, even by Viking standards. Ruff surged forward so violently Hiccup almost lost his grip. Just a few feet away, Barf and Belch crouched, tail lashing and eyes flattened. It wouldn't take much to make the dragons snap.

"Come and get me if y—" The men's shouts cut off at Hiccup's glare.

"I'll help you rebuild what Crowtooth destroyed," Hiccup said quietly. "Now leave. Please." Toothless's teeth slid out, knife-sharp and gleaming in the sun.

The men looked at Toothless, then each other and finally back at Hiccup. "It needs to be done in a week."

"It'll be done."

The men walked away, shoulders broad and chest thrown out. The effect was ruined somewhat by the nervous glances they cast back at the dragons.

"Nice one, Hiccup."

"You got them running."

Ruff and Tuff stopped mid laugh once they saw Hiccup's face.

"What dead dragon riders?"

* * *

Hiccup threw open the doors to the training arena, Toothless at his side. Ruff, Tuff, Barf and Belch, Crowtooth, and Anvil and Hammer crowded close behind him.

Stoick, Spitelout, Gobber, Gothi and Slowbottom conversed at the head of a long column. Phlegma paced the floor, shouting commands. The warriors split into neat groups, then back to formation again, then crouched under shields as though under dragon attack.

A tiny voice noted in the back of Hiccup's mind that these were Spitelout's best warriors, the Hooligans whose families had storied and proud ancestors of heroes, reavers and dragon killers. They'd been what every Hooligan child wanted to be.

Hiccup didn't care. He couldn't hear the shouts throughout the room, barely notice the men shift and ripple away from him as he walked straight down the middle. He could only hear the blood roaring in his ears. He could only see, no, envision the massacre that happened that morning.

Six dead dragon riders caught in an Outcast firestorm while out on patrol. Two, maybe three dragons, survived. Berserker ships sweeping in before the battle could continue. Snotlout and Hookfang taking the two surviving dragon riders and bearing them as fast as possible back to Berk. No time left for the surviving dragons. No traces left when Astrid came back for them.

His riders. His dragons.

Stoick looked up and saw Hiccup's face. "No, son."

"Dad, we have to go back for them."

" _No_." Stoick turned back to the group. "Continue, Phlegma. They need to have this drill perfected by today. Spitelout, if we recruit any younger we'll be taking infants from their cradles."

Phlegma cast a disapproving look at the dragon riders before banging her axes together. "You heard the Chief! Split! Shields! Evade!"

"We can't leave them!" Hiccup's shout rang above Phlegma's orders, the rattle of armor and the clink of weapons. Everybody stopped and stared. "They're just as much a part of the village as any of us here!"

"People died today, boy," Phlegma said. "All you care about are dragons."

"Of course I care," Hiccup snapped. "But I can't do anything for the dead. And I know that those who died would want their dragons rescued."

"What exactly are you proposing Hiccup?" Gobber shot a warning glance at Hiccup. It was the look that meant: _I'm listening, but I think it's gonna sound awfully stupid._

"Toothless and I take a tracking dragon. We find out if the dragons were killed by Berserkers. If they're alive, we rescue them."

"They're dead." Spitelout's voice wasn't unkind; it was simply blunt. His lips were pressed together in a tight line and a muscle in his cheek twitched.

"We don't know that." Slowbottom stepped closer to Hiccup and gave his shoulder a tight squeeze. "If the dragons are wounded, chances are good that the Berserkers will just take them to their arenas for sport. A Berserker would consider it beneath him to kill a half dead dragon."

"We've discussed all this before with Astrid," the Chief looked weary beyond words. "It's just too risky to mount a rescue expedition. Snotlout almost got caught pulling all the saddles off the dragons, but he's not even sure he got everything. If the Berserkers find a single saddle, they're going to start putting two and two together. Let's not add live dragon riders to the mix. Enough of you died already."

"Not dragon riders. Just one." Hiccup paused in the silence. Throat tightening, he rushed, "Toothless and I can be spared."

"Who will lead the trade with the Highlands or work the forges if you're gone?" Gobber waved one hooked hand to the south. "You're not thinking clearly, Hiccup. _No one can be spared."_

 _"_ Toothless and I can handle anything."

"No. The best thing you can do is to keep doing what you're doing. Visit Snotlout, if you've the time." Stoick nodded once more to Phlegma. "Keep going. We've only a few hours until sunset."

Hiccup stared. He couldn't understand. Of course they had to rescue the dragons. The dragons worked as hard as any Hooligan in defense of Berk. Of course they deserved to be rescued. They had to be.

"I'll go without your permission if I have to." The words were out of his mouth before he even realized it. Behind him, he could hear muffled gasps. Ruff gave an appreciate whistle. "You can't stop me."

Stoick gave Hiccup a long, piercing look that made Hiccup feel approximately two inches tall. Stoick wasn't looking at Hiccup the way a father would. Stoick was looking at Hiccup the way a Chief would deal with a particularly stubborn problem. "All right. I'll let you go."

Feeling surged back into Hiccup's limbs. "Thank you, Dad. I'll leave ri—"

"But only if you and Toothless beat them." Stoick jerked his head to the warriors in the room.

"What?"

Stoick nodded to Phlegma. Phlegma made a signal and the men cleared the center of the room. She gestured mockingly for Hiccup to proceed.

Hiccup hesitated, glancing back at Stoick. Stoick's face was implacable. Gobber, Gothi and Slowbottom were concerned. Spitelout grimaced at him and jerked his chin to the arena.

Whispers filled the arena. Coward. Milksop. Unnatural. Disgrace to the Chief. Not his father's son.

Fists tight, Hiccup hopped on Toothless and the two strode into the middle of the room. Toothless was nervous, growls rumbling every so often, eyes darting everywhere, spine standing straight up. Hiccup patted him.

Phlegm let out a shrill warcry that nearly shattered Hiccup's eardrums. He winced, could feel Toothless hunker down, and in that moment's distraction, the warriors struck. Toothless evaded four, used his tail to bat away three and used a plasma blast to knock out a hail of throwing axes. One flew clear and knicked Hiccup's cheek. "Toothless, up!"

Toothless launched itself to the air. It blasted through one net and an axe, but was hopelessly ensnared by another net. They crashed to the ground. Ears ringing, Hiccup threw himself off the saddle to avoid being crushed by Toothless. The dragon screamed its fury and burned its way free.

Warriors charged. Hiccup leapt through the opening in the net, knife in hand, but it was useless. The warrior knocked into him with his shield and Hiccup went flying. Winded, Hiccup staggered to his feet and saw Toothless's mechanical fin go flying. They'd ripped up Toothless's rigging.

Gobber's voice from years past floated up in Hiccup's mind: _It's the wings and the tails you really want. If it can't fly, it can't get away. A downed dragon is a dead dragon._

The Night Fury staggered up but was buried underneath a dozen more warriors.

"Hey, that's cheating!" Ruff screamed from the sideline.

"It's brilliant," Tuff enthused.

"Whose side are you on?" Ruff punched him.

"Toothless!" Hiccup ran but was jerked to a halt by a meaty hand on his shoulder. It was Phlegma.

The shieldmaiden made a hand signal. The warriors that weren't subduing Toothless stepped back.

"It's done now," Hiccup panted. "Let Toothless go. Don't hurt him!"

"It's not done yet," Phlegma said. She handed him a sword.

Hiccup gripped the handle awkwardly, confused. What did she want him to do with it? It was only when she took her twin axes in both hands that understanding flooded through Hiccup.

 _Are you kidding me?_ he wanted to shout. Phlegma was the best warrior in the village apart from Stoick and Spitelout. There was no way Hiccup was gonna last more than two minutes.

"What's the matter, boy?" she grinned, eyes intent on his face as she circled him. Hiccup kept a good six feet back. It had gone dead silent in the room apart from Toothless's growls. "Terror got your tongue?"

She moved forward so fast Hiccup barely had time to bring his sword up before she smashed down on it with both axes. The sword gave an ominous squeak. Years in the forge told Hiccup that meant the sword was one blow away from shattering entirely.

"Are you really the son of Stoick the Vast?" she hissed, bearing her full weight on him. "Or did some outsider father you?"

Hiccup pushed her away with a shout and staggered.

Phlegma took two dancing steps back. She wasn't even out of breath.

Sweat trickled into Hiccup's eyes. His muscles burned from her blow; his joints felt weak and watery. Spots were starting to swim in his vision.

The shieldmaiden circled him again, coming ever closer. "Aren't you even going to _try_?"

Grief and humiliation and pain blurred into a dizzying maelstrom in Hiccup. He charged forward. She countered with a lazy spin of her right axe and delivered him a blow with the handle of her left axe for his trouble.

"Your mother was just like you. Swanning around the village and going to places she shouldn't have." Phlegma circled him like a shark, eyes cold and dead. "Mouthing off to people who knew better."

He attacked. His first blow was a feint, followed by a swift counterstroke that knocked Phlegma's left axe away. He saw her blink in surprise before her fist came up and punched him. Light exploded in Hiccup's vision. Pain so sharp whited out every thought in his brain.

The ground came up hard. Phlegma stomped on his right wrist and he gasped. She kicked the sword away. Blinking through the tears in his eyes, Hiccup smashed a fist down at the foot on his wrist. It connected but the blow was weak. Hiccup didn't know if Phlegma even felt it. Phlegma yanked him to his feet. His arm was wrenched so hard Hiccup felt it pop. He struggled in her grip until he felt the keen edge of her axe.

Hiccup hung limply in Phlegma's unforgiving hold. The pain was awful but it was nothing compared to the pain inside. "Why are you stopping now?" he whispered. "Just do it."

Phlegma let him go and he collapsed on to the floor. Hiccup didn't even have the strength to get up. He heard footsteps and saw Stoick's boots come near. The Chief's voice came as if from far away. "The Berserkers are among the best dragon killers in the entire Archipelago. They won't be careful with you as Phlegma and the warriors were. If you can't fight your own people, how do you expect to beat Berserkers?"

* * *

Step, shift weight, breathe through the pain. Repeat. The steps away from the training are and to the glade in the woods had never seemed so long before. Hiccup choked back a little gasp of pain and held his right arm to his body.

He should have taken Gothi's offer and gone back to the healing hut. But he wouldn't. He was minutes away from imploding and he didn't want anyone to see it.

Step, shift weight, breathe through the pain. Repeat.

He ignored Toothless's gentle whine and nudge to go back to his house. His room was the last place he wanted to be. Why would he want to go back to a house that reminded him of all the things he failed to be? A Chief's heir, a legendary heroine's son, a leader of the dragon riders, a Viking.

Pain throbbed in his jaw. His vision swam. Faintly, Hiccup realized he was never going to make it to the glade. Why would he? He failed at everything else in his life. Even something as simple as getting to a glade would be beyond him.

Toothless nudged him more insistently. Hiccup blinked and realized they were at the forge. His workroom. He managed a grateful pat on Toothless as he shuffled forward, then—

A familiar shadow passed over him followed by the light thump of booted feet. Hiccup didn't need to hear Toothless's chirrup of greeting to know it was Astrid and Stormfly.

"Ruff and Tuff told me—I didn't think—Gods, Hiccup." Her fingers brushed his arm. It was a familiar gesture he'd known for so many years now. It was almost instinct to turn into it. "I looked for you at the glade, but—"

"What do you want Astrid?"

Astrid's eyes narrowed as he shied away from her touch. Her voice came back firmer. Stronger. More like the shieldmaiden of Berk and less like his best friend. "We need to get you back to Gothi's hut."

"Forget it."

"Hiccup—" She grabbed his arm as he shuffled past her. He couldn't help the yelp of pain that exploded from his throat.

"Ow!" He stumbled away from her and would have fallen if it weren't for Toothless behind him. "Injured here!"

"That's why you need to go back to Gothi's hut."

Hiccup's sharp retort was cut off by the sound of crates smashing and the metallic clang of falling tools. The earth rumbled as Meatlug surged out of the forge with Barf and Belch snapping playfully at its heels. Meatlug's saddle was burdened with burlap sacks and a crate with the bottom hanging open.

"Whoa!" Instinctively, he threw his arms out, palms out in the universal gesture to heel. The gronkle and zippelback stopped so close their breath puffed back the hair from his forehead. Toothless let out a low, trilling growl of warning, but Meatlug and Barf and Belch ignored him in favor of giving the Hiccup surprised, enthusiastic licks.

"Come back here! This is supposed to be a stealth operation!"

"Say it louder, Tuff. I don't think the entire village heard you yet."

"You guys, we need to hurry before—" Fishlegs stopped short once he saw Hiccup in front of the dragons. "Hiccup, you look terrible! Ruff, you weren't lying."

"Do I ever lie?" Ruff stepped outside, dragging her brother by the arm.

"She never lies," Tuff nodded sagely.

"What are you all gonna do about the dragons?" His right hand trembled as he tried to caress Meatlug and Barf and Belch. The fire in his wrist was fast becoming unbearable.

Astrid and Fishlegs exchanged weighted looks. She said, "Believe me, I've had this conversation with the Chief already."

"Yeah? Where's the bruises?"

"I've got bruises." Tuff lifted up his shirt to reveal a dark bruise that traveled diagonally from his shoulder blades to his lower back to his side. A wound, stitched closed but still red and fresh, lay just above his hip. "I pushed a dumb kid out of the way of an Outcast club and it hit me instead."

"Ooh, is this a contest? I've got these," Ruff waved her hands, palms up in the air, where it was bisected by a fresh scar, "digging a blade from that same club out of Tuff's back."

"Guys, it's not helping." Fishlegs pulled Tuff's shirt down. Wincing, he said, "Hiccup, it's not so simple."

"It never is. What's the excuse this time?"

"Excuse?" It was the exact same tone Astrid used when she'd tried to convince Hiccup to kill Dagur on that fateful cliff so many days ago. "Protecting the rest of Berk is not an excuse."

"So you just pretend those dragons never existed? Dragons we helped hatch and train? Who grew up trusting us to always care for them? Lavatongue, Seaflight, Forepaw, Mudgrunt—"

"Dreadripper and Scuddle. Gyda, Inger, Siv, Ketiltrout, Barktongue and Eryk. We have lost so many, Hiccup, not just from today. I recite each and every name before I go to sleep. I pray to the gods that I have the strength to protect the ones that remain and avenge the lost."

"Then help me protect the ones that are still alive! Fishlegs, help me make a new rig for Toothless—" His foot nudged a leather harness that fell from the crate on Meatlug's back. With a start, Hiccup realized it was Toothless's harness. In fact, as his eyes scanned the ground, Toothless's equipment was scattered on the ground or hanging haphazardly from Meatlug's saddle.

"We were just taking it out for some cleaning. Your stuff's filthy, Hiccup, just filthy," Ruff said while Tuff hurriedly began picking the wrenches and bits of leather from the ground.

"Why?" The word escaped him as violently as if he'd been punched.

"The Chief—"

"I don't care what the Chief said! _Why_?" Why did you betray me? Why don't you listen to me? Why don't you trust me? A thousand questions and accusations underscored by betrayal and resentment crowded the suddenly silent air around the dragons. The dragons shifted uneasily, sensing their riders' distress. Even the twins had stopped their hasty retrieval of Toothless's rig.

"What are you going to do if you're discovered trying to rescue the dragons from the Berserker arenas?" Fishlegs's voice was careful and even—ever the diplomat in the group.

"I won't be."

Astrid huffed and leapt on Stormfly. The others slowly mounted their dragons as well. Fishlegs said softly as Meatlug took off, "Go home, Hiccup. You need to rest."

* * *

 

Gobber's apprentices stared at him with wide eyes as limped past them and into his workroom. It was empty. Barren. He hardly recognized it without the clutter of his tools and half-finished inventions. Fishlegs and the twins had been thorough. Only his sketches and notebooks remained in their haphazard stacks around the desk.

Suddenly lightheaded, he sank into his stool. Everything hurt except his left leg. That had been the only limb that Phlegma hadn't hit or twisted or damaged in any way. She had been careful.

A manic laugh bubbled up his throat and became a harsh, gasping cry. Careful! He knocked his drawings to the ground, overreached and crashed to the floor. Toothless sank down beside him, crooning.

Hiccup cried. He cried for fallen dragon riders, he cried for everything he'd wanted and couldn't become, he cried for the village he couldn't save and the father he'd disappointed. He had no mother. He might as well have no father. He had no voice.

Crowtooth's cry woke him with a start. He blinked away the dream of Crowtooth finding the corpse of Lavatongue at a lonely beach. Tears had left salty tracks down his cheek and had splashed down a sketch he'd knocked aside.

He sat up, wincing, and carefully detached the sketch stuck to his face. The sketch was of his half-finished leather armor. He hadn't pulled it out in weeks. He hadn't even wanted to look at it. But now a renewed sense of curiosity and whimsy overtook him.

He fumbled for a pencil on the ground, found one and quickly started adding more details to the sketch. Ideas bubbled up so fast his fingers could hardly keep up. Saving the village, leading the dragon riders, being the Viking his father wanted to be—they might beyond him. But there was one thing he could still do. There was one change he could make.

" _Is saving dragons that important to you?"_

" _What?" He glanced nervously up the gangplank. No one was in sight, but he could hear Slowbottom's voice—half threatening, half cajoling as the sailors moved the cargo to better distribute the weight._

" _I've been thinking about what you said. About seeing the Reaping Fleet for the first time and seeing the dragons taken captive."_

" _I told you. I have no say in Berk's response to that."_

" _Then you should do something about it. Especially when you have no voice." Merida glanced behind her. Her mouth was set in a hard-edge, and she seemed to see something more than the departing Macintosh longship. "There are those who say fate is beyond our command. That destiny is not our own. But I know better. Our fate lives within us. You only have to be brave enough to see it."_

Toothless nosed the sketch.

Hiccup grinned and it felt stiff and strange. "Know what, bud? I know another place that has its own forge."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:Thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/followed the story! I am so sorry that I am taking so long to get these out.
> 
> Any errors or inconsistencies are all my fault. I'm in between betas at the moment and, if you can't tell, this is my very first time writing something of this length with this much detail and side plots swirling about. I keep thinking that there is a way to streamline this, but I'd rather get it out to you folks than sit on it any longer.
> 
> To my dear reviewers, THANK YOU! It means so much that you take the time to actually drop a line of appreciation or share your favorite highlight of the chapter. I cherish every single one even if my schedule doesn't permit me to respond. You guys inspire me to write better and faster.
> 
> CROSSING THE HORIZON is the larger story in which the snippets of LIMINALITY take place. Please check out that story if you want to see more of Hiccup and Merida's interaction.
> 
> Finally, I post snippets of upcoming chapters or thinky thoughts regarding the story on my account moonshotsandarchimedeslevers in tumblr. If you want to see more or would just like to talk merricup, come check it out!


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